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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042625">What Do You Know About Us?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dtbookworm/pseuds/dtbookworm'>dtbookworm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Best Friends, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Bonding, Broken Families, Bullying, Childhood Memories, Creepy Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Henry Bowers is Not That Bad, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Late Night Conversations, Loneliness, M/M, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Physical Abuse, Psychological Horror, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Romance, Sassy Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:16:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,421</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dtbookworm/pseuds/dtbookworm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly and Henry have never gotten along. Never. Bullies are ruthless, soulless, kids who take and push and shove to get what they want and that's exactly how Beverly feels about Henry Bowers. So when she stands up to him during lunch with her fellow losers, why does she feel pity? Something like remorse?</p><p>Told in two perspectives (Beverly and Henry), both kids deal with their parents in different ways, their father the common denominator in their attempts at a mutual respect.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alvin Marsh &amp; Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom &amp; Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak &amp; Richie Tozier, Henry Bowers &amp; Beverly Marsh, Henry Bowers &amp; The Losers Club (IT), Henry Bowers's Gang/The Losers Club (IT), Henry Bowers/Reginald “Belch” Huggins, Henry Bowers/Victor Criss/Patrick Hockstetter/Reginald "Belch" Huggins, Mike Hanlon/Beverly Marsh, Oscar "Butch" Bowers &amp; Henry Bowers, The Losers Club &amp; Beverly Marsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You Go Girl!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Losers Club have lunch, having a gay old time until Henry Bowers and his gang come harassing them. Beverly decides to stand up to the bully. Afterwards, she feels a tiny bit of remorse. Why though?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys! I'm excited for this piece I'm working on. Henry is a character that I want to dive into a little more. In the movie, he had no redeeming qualities whatsoever, but I'm here to add some that are justifiable. After all, his home-life isn't exactly glamorous. Maybe Beverly and he will form a mutual respect? Stick around as the story develops.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>August 14th, 1988 </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>11:14 AM</strong>
</p><p>The lunchroom was buzzing with conversation as usual. One had to shout over the noise just to be heard. The conversation melded into a messy conglomerate of schoolwork, crappy teachers, the crappier unappetizing lunches of too burnt grilled cheese and slightly past the expiration date soup, stories about kids sneaking into the girls bathroom, and basically any anecdote that resulted in gut wrenching laughs from a kid's closest friends. Yep. Just your standard early in the year conversations that soared before being weighed down by schoolwork and group projects.</p><p>In the corner, away from everyone else who looked at them with bewildered eyes and spoke about them with more vehemence than necessary, The Losers Club sat huddled together, leaning over the table to hear what one another had to say. And what were they talking about? How were they spending their lunch? Well, one, there was only so many activities one could do in Derry, so they talked about the only thing that the group could do every other day. The movies.</p><p>Among the six losers, Beverly cupped her cheek in her hand and yawned loudly. She wasn't totally oblivious to the conversation the guys around her were having. It's just that...well, let's be honest, the boys didn't always provide the most stimulating conversations. Ok, scratch that. By <em>boys</em> she meant<em> Richie</em>. He was the one who didn't always provide the most stimulating of conversations. At least in her opinion. It's this everyday repetitiveness that made Beverly zone in and out of the claim he was making.</p><p>"No, Eddie, dude, no, Freddy Krueger beats Jason any day. Any. Day." Richie took a bite of his grilled cheese, talking with his mouth half full. Crumbs fell from his mouth which made Beverly roll her eyes. "He is the ultimate dream master, the manipulator of worlds."</p><p>Next to him, Eddie shook his head rapidly, adamant in defending his claim. He was like an insurance agent, determined to collect his revenue.  "No, no, you're wrong. Are you serious? You can't be serious? Jason's better. C'mon, his kills are like no other."</p><p>Richie let out a giant raspberry, setting droplets of spit flying over his tray. "Like no other? What?" He laughed, looking around at the present company for confirmation that Eddie did in fact just say that. "You guys here this knock kneed fucker?"</p><p>"Jason has supernatural powers just like Freddy. Have you <em>seen </em>how he teleports. He's whisper quiet despite his size."</p><p>"Whisper quiet? Whisper <em>quiet</em>? The dude weighs four hundred pounds at best and leaves a blood trail. At least with Freddy, the kills are clean in reality. He's practically untraceable."</p><p>Eddie folded his his hands over the table as if he was in a business meeting. "Freddy Krueger is a grade, certified pussy in reality. He's only strong in peoples' dreams. The fact that he attacks people while they're sleeping is, like, so cowardly."</p><p>Richie groaned to the ceiling, the noise similar to the engine of a lawn mower. "Cowardly? Cow-guys, I need your help. Put some input here."</p><p>Beverly sat up and rested her hands over one another on the table. "Hey. Richie. Don't take this the wrong way, but uh," She looked conspiratorially to the left where Ben sat reading then to the right where Bill was laughing. Then leaning over the table, she whispered loudly, "Nobody cares. At all."</p><p>"Is that so?" Richie adjusted his coke frame glasses so that the lenses were on his forehead. He changed his voice into a 1920 lieutenant. "Listen, Doll-face. This is man's work, see? I don't take too kindly to dames butting their noses where they shouldn't. Besides, everyone else is interested in what I have to say? Right men?"</p><p>"Not really," Ben said, his eyes not leaving his copy of <em>The Book of Kells</em>.</p><p>"Nope," Stanley said, taking a bite of his sandwich, then spitting it back out in disgust. "Just you and Eddie."</p><p>"D-Ditto," Bill said.</p><p>"I rest my case," Beverly said with a triumphant smile. </p><p>"Traitors. Traitors, all of you." Richie pointed around the table like a sprinkler. "Maybe Mike will have better input than you losers."</p><p>"We're still meeting him later, right?" Beverly asked. Richie leaned over to try to swipe her sandwich, but Beverly smacked his hand away before he could. "To help in on the farm?"</p><p>"Y-Y-Yeah," Bill said. He tugged at the sleeves of his black and red checkered shirt. "He said that a-a-after he's done with his delivering his m-m-m," Bill pounded the table, struggling to get the word out. "Meat. Then he'll meet us at his farmhouse."</p><p>"Wish he went to school with us," Eddie said. His watch beeped and he checked the time. Immediately, his hands went to his fanny pack, pulling out his inhaler. "He'd probably make lunch more," he made it a point to look Richie up and down. "Bearable."</p><p>Ben set down his book. "Yeah, but I don't think he'd like it here." He ran a hand through his bowl haircut. "In case you forgot, this school doesn't exactly throw out the red carpet for new people easily."</p><p>"Isn't that the truth," Stanley said. Beverly noticed that Stanley always talked as if there was someone around the corner waiting to snatch him up. "When I first came here, someone...I can't remember now, might've been Bowers, but <em>someone </em>swiped my cap and tried to flush it down the toilet." He let out a sigh, as if the moment just happened now instead of four years ago. "It didn't flush so I had to fish it out."</p><p>Beverly's heart winced. She was still learning something new about the boys everyday. It didn't compare to having your own father lust after you like a psycho, but it was still downright hurtful. "That's horrible."</p><p>"Then we showed up," Richie piped up, pointing to himself, then Bill, then Eddie. The last two boys nodded in agreement. "Eddie helped him clean it. I, as usual, made him laugh with my clever and witty remarks. And Bill comforted him with his oh so quiet voice. Thus, the four amigos were born. And we bonded and loved and all that good shit."</p><p>"In other words," Bill said, giving Richie a tired look a parent would give to a child who flunked his report card. "We were st-st-stuck together."</p><p>"A match made in Heaven," Beverly said. "And then came Ben, Mike, and I."</p><p>"Exact-a-mundo, Red." Richie raised his carton of milk toward her. "Now we're stronger than ever."</p><p>Eddie changed the alarm on his watch. "Don't forget dysfunctional and utterly weird and shit."</p><p>"Weird's okay," Ben said. He tugged at his shirt latching to his skin, looking around to see if other kids were looking at him. Sure enough, some girls, mainly Greta from across the room. She gave Ben a scrutinizing look that you'd give a caged animal at a zoo. "Beats being on your own."</p><p>"Agreed," Stanley said. He offered his sandwich to Richie after he was sure he wasn't going to eat the black crust.</p><p>"Yeah." Ben drummed his fingers along his forearms. "You guys are the greatest." He looked at Beverly then quickly looked away, blushing.</p><p>"We're g-g-glad you could join our team," Bill said, reaching over Beverly and giving the bookworm a fist bump.</p><p>"Okay, okay, alright." Richie made a <em>timeout </em>motion with his hands. "If we start doing group hugs I'm gonna fuckng vomit. Jesus fucking Louise, you guys are sappy."</p><p>Eddie gave him a knowing look. "Says the guy who cried when Nancy's boyfriend died."</p><p>The group laughed, doing nothing to hide their amusement. Beverly cupped her mouth and tilted her head back.</p><p>"Dude!" Richie said, stuttering. "I...I was-no, I wasn't crying."</p><p>"Sure you weren't," Beverly said, taking a seemingly nonchalant sip of her milk. "Your eyes were just wet."</p><p>"The guy was loyal and treated Nancy right! It was true love! You know what fuck you guys. Fuck you six ways from Sunday."</p><p>The group's laughter grew more raucous, overpowering the rest of the lunchroom. Beverly didn't care who stared, who saw her having fun with a bunch of boys. Ben turned completely red in the face and Eddie was on the verge of hyperventilating. Stanley and Bill tried to shush everyone, but even they were laughing until tears leaked from their eyes. Beverly felt a new freedom among these misfit boys. No one accused her of being a slut, no one accused made fun of her because her dad was the janitor of the school, no one made fun of her weird fashion choices; whether it was a red sweater with blue overalls, her midnight blue dress with a brown leather belt, or her key chain necklace that hung over her neck. No. Here, she was an equal. She was still at the bottom of the wrung along with these boys, but she'd rather look up at the kings and queens on top with her fellow losers. With them, even at the bottom, she felt as though she was at the top of Mount Everest, viewing the world as it was set ablaze by the setting sun.</p><p>Suddenly, everyone's laughter died quickly. A little <em>too </em>quickly. Everyone clammed up, leaning over their lunches. Ben went back to his book, but he didn't look relaxed. Bill and Stanley rubbed their eyes, as if they were in a vicinity of a bomb filled with fatigue. Eddie kept fidgeting next to Richie, eyes looking up and down not listening to Richie saying <em>chill </em>and <em>relax</em>. Beverly turned around to see what caused the group to quiet down. Great. Just fucking great. Strutting in like they owned the whole school, like the lunchroom was their domain as well as the other rooms in the school, Henry Bowers and his gang walked toward them. Henry pushed past a kid carrying his lunch, causing the kid to spill his tray. Belch burped in the kid's face afterwards, sending him away. Victor and Patrick flanked them from behind, serpent smiles on their faces.</p><p>"Fuck. Fuck." Richie said.</p><p>"They're coming this way," Eddie whispered, his voice shaking. Richie slung a protective arm around his shoulder.</p><p>"R-R-Relax," Bill said. "Don't look at them."</p><p>"Shit," Stanley said,  already grabbing his current cap and pushing it into his pocket. "Too late."</p><p>The gang reached their table. Leaning on his hip, Henry examined the losers like a wolf would toward his dinner. "You losers having a good lunch?" He sneered.</p><p>Nobody answered. Beverly crossed her arms and was about speak when Ben grabbed her elbow. He shook his head subtly, as if to say <em>Don't engage.</em> Beverly nodded.</p><p>"What do y-y-you want Bowers?" Bill asked, not meeting the bully's eyes.</p><p>Henry leaned into Bill's face, throwing personal space out of the window. "Y-Y-You s-s-say s-something B-B-Billy?" He mocked. He pushed Bill in the chest. Belch, Victor, and Patrick laughed behind him.</p><p>"Fuck off Henry," Richie said. "Oh, you know what? I forgot you were on your period. Why don't you take that tampon out of your ass and leave us alone?"</p><p>"Beep, beep, Richie," Eddie whispered, trying to avert the bully's attention.</p><p>"Was I talking to you, four eyes?" Henry swaggered to their side of the table. Beverly didn't think you could loathe a person as much as Henry. Even loathe wasn't the right word. You didn't loathe shit in the toilet, you were disgusted by it. You didn't loathe week old gum stuck to your shoe, you simply scraped it off. Henry Bowers? No, he was something else. Worse than bacteria on the lid of a public toilet. Worse than the gray water that filled the sewers. "Or do I need to teach you to keep your mouth shut?"</p><p>Stanley kept his eyes focused solely on his lunch tray, fear radiating off of him like Bambi running from the hunters. When Belch reached Eddie, he burped loudly in his face. Eddie gagged, grabbing his throat at the smell and buried his nose in Richie's shoulder.  Even Beverly could smell his breath. Rancid cheese and puss filled fish. Or was it a dead rat growing fungus? She wouldn't be surprised if it was the same stuff used in German concentration camps to suffocate prisoners.</p><p>"Just leave us alone," Ben said meagerly. "Please."</p><p>"Oh Tits McFatass." Henry's eyes, narrow and on fire like pools of magnum, made Ben shrink. "Don't work yourself over. Might explode chilly cheese fries and sour cream." He made a couple of <em>oink oink </em>noises, snorting loudly that just sent Patrick and Victor into hysterics.</p><p>Ben tugged on his jacket, looking all kinds of insecure. He blinked rapidly, looking like he was fighting away tears. Beverly's back crept with heat and she clenched her fists. That's it. That was absolutely it. She already had enough shit when dealing with Greta and her bubblegum pink wearing drones. She had enough of this mullet wearing, too tight t shirt wearing bully. Time to knock him down a peg or ten.</p><p>"What's your problem, Trailer Trash?" Beverly stood, eyeing Henry.</p><p>Henry leered at Beverly and drew a wicked smile. "What did you say, bitch?" He strode up to her, getting in her face. Beverly could smell sweat, motor oil, and something sharp like astringent.</p><p>"You heard me."</p><p>"Say it again."</p><p>"Again? Really? Your brain's functioning so slow that you can't comprehend simple diction? Makes sense since you repeated the eight grade, what, two, three times now?"</p><p>Henry smile faded. Now it was a taut line, filled with as much venom as a devil's grin. Behind him, his friends exchanged bewildered looks. "You don't know anything, slut. Besides, yanking my chain." He grabbed his crotch and held it up, making the boys behind him laugh. "It's what you do best."</p><p>The Losers were silent. If Beverly turned around, she could see Ben twitching involuntarily, fighting the urge to pounce on Henry. Bill's mouth was agape, speechless. Stanley, Richie, and Eddie just sat, watching, waiting.</p><p>Beverly had a moment of nostalgia, the feeling of being locked in a bathroom with Greta on the other-side of the door hurling insults and trash bags full of dirty paper towels and used tissues. She knew she wasn't a slut. She wasn't. And she definitely wouldn't waste her time with Henry Bowers, the knife wielding, leather cuff wearing bastard. Still, him calling her out sent a wave of nostalgia over her. She shook it off, staring down Henry.  "What I do best is making sure people know how <em>small </em>your chain is. Chain, isn't even the right word. More of a pill pug. Or a cell."</p><p>Snickers erupted from Belch. Henry shot him a withering look that made him tug at his flannel vest. "You think that just because your hanging around these faggots you can talk to me like that? You must've forget who I am."</p><p>"No. No I haven't." She pointed a finger into his chest. "I know that you're an angry boy who's illiterate, racist, and tries to overcompensate for his small wee wee with that mustang. You might as well be riding a tricycle. Tell me, Bowers. How does it feel to have a pig for a dad? How does it feel to know that at any moment, you're a crime away from ending up in the penitentiary where you belong?"</p><p>Laughter erupted, this time from Richie who made no point to stifle it. "I hear those prison men have some <em>weird </em>ways of showing you a good time."</p><p>Beverly laughed. Behind her, the other losers joined her, their fear subsiding into jubilation. </p><p>"<em>Shut up</em>!" Henry shouted, his voice tight. The muscles in his arms flexed and bulged, the veins bulging from clenching his fists. He looked as though he was going to swing and Beverly was ready. She had good backup at the moment and adrenaline coursed through her veins like electricity. </p><p>"Hey, man, she ain't worth it," Belch said, tugging Henry's arm. "Let's just get out of here."</p><p>Henry gave Beverly a final stare before whispering, "This isn't over. You hear me? Not by a long shot."</p><p>The gang of bullies left, again pushing past kids and stepping on toes.</p><p>When Beverly sat back down, she felt something inside of her. Remorse? Pity? What the hell? Why was-why was she feeling pity for that dipshit? No, it's probably just the adrenaline that's making her think all woozy. "That was fun," she said.</p><p>"Bev. That. Was. Awesome. Fucking Mickie Foster over here," Richie said, extending his hand for a high five. Beverly gladly obliged.</p><p>"Did you see his face turn all red?" Eddie said, smiling. His watch beeped and he pressed the button, making it stop. "Gold. Man, I have second hand stick on me. I'm thoroughly convinced Belch gargles with gray water and dehydrated urine."</p><p>"Wouldn't be surprised," Bill said, relaxing. "You m-m-might have to take th-three showers to get the stink out. You okay, Stan?"</p><p>Stanley looked up finally, breathing as if he was being held underwater. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Nice job, Bev."</p><p>"Yeah." Ben looked at her fondly. "That was cool of you. I could never do that in a million years."</p><p>She patted his back. "Thanks, Ben. When you're constantly made fun of, you pick up on insults. You use them as your weapon or something like that."</p><p>"That's what the fuck I'm talking about."</p><p>"You know you made it worse when you made that prison joke right?" Eddie asked.</p><p>"Yeah," Bill said, checking the door to make sure the gang wouldn't return. "Now he'll b-b-be on the lookout for us f-f-for sure."</p><p>Richie waved his hand over his face as if Bill's words were stains on a plane glass window. "Blah, blah, blah. When isn't it worse for us?"</p><p>"He's got a point," Stanley said. "It's always going to be bad for us."</p><p>"Not today, though," Ben said, picking his book back. up. "Today's a good day." He gave a final shy look at Beverly before burying his nose into the pages.</p><p>The group went about their business. Eddie and Richie resumed their conversation about who was a better super villain. Ben read his book studiously. Bill and Stanley were doing tongue twisters to further improve Bill's stutter. Beverly? Beverly was in her own head. She saw something in Henry. <em>Something</em>. It was as small as a dust mote, as tiny as a grain of sand. It was something that made her want to reach out her hand and...</p><p>And....</p><p>And...comfort him.</p><p>Ok. No. Gross. Absolutely not. Henry was a bully. That's all there was too it. No doubt about that, no sir-y, Bob.</p><p>Beverly joined Eddie and Richie's conversation. She thought Freddy Krueger was much better</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>5:00 PM</strong>
</p><p>The glass bottle shattered, its shards flying among the wild grass and the bases of the fence's posts. The echoing of the gunshot was music to Henry's ears. It might as well have been a symphony in an opera house, a melodic song that sent the listener into a state of rapture. Ok, so, he'd never <em>seen</em> an opera or listened to anything with a true melody because he only listened to punk rock and whatever trash leaked from the radio of the mustang, but holding the gun, feeling the curve of the trigger gave him control. It gave him reassurance in the fact that he had the power to end a life if he wanted to. After all, that's how the world worked. Killers and crooks stole away into the night while innocent people were weak and useless. Why cry when you can <em>steal</em>? Why curl in on yourself when you can simply exude your frustrations out on the people below you? Well, surely, there's nothing wrong with that. After all, it's what kept you on top. There's nothing worse than a man crumbling on himself like a forgotten child on an uncharted shore. Why be a child when you can be a man?</p><p>Henry aimed the gun a little to the right. With one eye closed he focused on the bottle, shimmering green in the August sun. His gaze was laser locked on its neck. Ready. Aim. <em>Fire</em>!</p><p>Behind him, Belch, Victor, and Patrick hollered, whooping around and high five-ing each other as if school was let out again. The bottle exploded into green tiny crystals that mixed in with the previous red and blue ones on the ground. "Nice one, Henry!" Belch proclaimed, slapping Henry on the shoulder.</p><p>"Told you boys I was a good shot." Henry punched Belch in the chest. He waved the <em>still loaded</em> gun among the three spectators. "Any of you pussies want to give it another go?"</p><p>"Not me. My hands are sore." Belch examined his meaty hands, turning them over like sausage patties on a grill. "Gonna have to be a minute for me."</p><p>"Fucking wuss." Henry looked between Patrick and Victor. Patrick was playing with a lighter that was maxed out to be a flamethrower. He sent a flame round high into the air whenever he pulled down on the aerosol can. Victor was leaning hallway into the car-much so that his underwear was showing- and was fussing with the radio, clicking through stations to try to find the perfect punk song. "C'mon, who wants to go?"</p><p>"I'm good!" Patrick shouted over the roar of the flames. Man, did he give a new definition to the word <em>pyromaniac</em>. "That's some good, shit!"</p><p>"Cut that out," Victor said, leaning out of the car and sidling up to Patrick. "Gonna burn someone's skin off."</p><p>"Yeah, yours." Patrick aimed the can at him, but Victor pushed him back. "What's wrong, Vic? All work and no play makes Patrick a dull boy."</p><p>Henry shook his head. Whatever. He had this in the bag. The final bottle was on the line. A mauve colored bottle beckoned him and he was more than happy to give into the pull. "Whatever. I got this."</p><p>"You showed that skank at lunch today," Belch said, adjusting his Derry, Maine baseball cap. "Brenda, right? It's true that you got with her?"</p><p>"Hey, your breath smells like shit. Don't talk so close." Henry didn't take his eyes off of the bottle, but his arm shook. The mention of Brendas'...um, <em>Beverly's</em>, name made him think back to what she said earlier during their little lunchroom debacle. She told him what was it like having a pig for a dad and she even followed that up with saying that he himself would end up in the state penitentiary. The hell did she know about him? He raised the gun toward the bottle again, brushing off his moment of sensitivity. "Her name's Beverly, dumbass. And yeah, I did."</p><p>"What was she like?" Belch leaned in toward Henry so that Patrick and Victor couldn't hear. Victor was too busy avoiding the violent flames that Patrick was spewing out. "You know how those red haired bitches are."</p><p>Henry lined up his shot again, rolling his shoulder. "Not even worth the time."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>"Really."</p><p>"Damn. 'Cause I wanted to practice on her before I take Lydia to the movies. I wanna see if she'll let me get to second base. And it's dark, so they'll be plenty of cover room. She's been <em>wanting</em> it all week and <em>now </em>I can finally show her some action. Just hope she cooperates and doesn't make it difficult."</p><p>Henry nodded, half focusing on the conversation as Belch droned on about Lydia's big basketball knockers. He was no noob when it came to lying. No, Henry was no Tekashi69 about his situation. He didn't tell the truth easily, even when he was under pressure. Okay, so, he was usually caught in a lie when regarding his <em>schoolwork</em> and how he treated other students. <em>Personal</em> matters? He was a golden glove champion when it came to that stuff. Not even the three dumbasses around him knew about his home-life that well. I mean, they had <em>some </em>idea, some inclination as to what went on behind the locked doors. They knew that Sheriff Bowers was a mean son of a bitch who looked over Derry with judging and rigid eyes. They knew that Henry 's mother was gone from the picture since they've never seen her, not that they even asked.</p><p>What Henry didn't need to tell them was the occurring bruises on his back. What Henry didn't need to tell them was that he had thoughts about....about...it's stupid really. Why would he have thoughts about causing himself pain? He already had enough to deal with. He already hurt when his mother left him to fend for himself against the hands of his dad. He already hurt when his own father saw his son as nothing more than a criminal. Ok, yes, Henry did some <em>misdemeanors</em>over the years and he did acknowledge <em>almost </em>killing Ben Hanscom over at the bridge. Henry hoped that his dad would react differently, that he would <em>see </em>him as for who he actually was, not just what he did on the outside. Aren't dads supposed to do that? Protect their sons? Figure out what's wrong instantly before the situation spiraled out of control? Hold their children in their arms to keep the darkness at bay?</p><p>Not Sheriff Bowers. And Beverly reminded him of that point blank. Screw her. Yeah. Yeah, she can just rot away with the other losers.</p><p>Remembering what he was doing, Henry aimed his gun at the bottle. Before he was able to pull the trigger, he heard the sound of tires crunching on the gravel road. He spun around to see a police cruiser driving along the fence of the front yard. His dad. Fuck. Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>.</p><p>"Shit, man, it's your dad," Belch said, trying to make himself decent in his sleeveless flannel vest and dirt coated jeans. He was brushing away the dirt on his thighs. Not that <em>that </em>would make him look more decent what with his face like a Little Rascal bully.</p><p>"I know." Henry didn't know what to do with the gun. His hands shook. He couldn't run into the house with his dad nearby because he'd know that something was up. Did he already see him? Maybe he could blame one of his friends? No, it wouldn't matter because his dad would automatically point to Henry. "Pat! Vick!"</p><p>The two other boys stopped their little game of avoiding flames and straightened up. They stood up straight and erect, looking like military men as if they weren't just being total morons a couple seconds ago. Henry looked at the broken crystals of glass on the ground. Shoot. As the cruiser came nearer, he stuffed the gun into the back of his jeans with purposeful rips.</p><p>Henry stood next to the other boys, trying to look innocent. He kept his head low and put his arms down to his sides.</p><p>The cruiser pulled up in front of them. The black and white metal gleamed like a melting smore in the hot sun. The unlit red and blue lights taunted Henry, as if they were a clairvoyant talisman, saying <em>This is your future. We'll be waiting for you.</em> He heard a wicked Larry from The Three Stooges laugh ringing in his ears. It had to be his nerves, they were on edge.</p><p>Sheriff Bowers stepped out of the car on his dull blue police uniform. He scanned over the four boys behind his sunglasses, not showing an ounce of emotion, a droplet of feeling. He <em>definitely </em>could play the Terminator's understudy if he wanted to.</p><p>He strutted up to the boys, thumbs wedged into his belt loops. The <em>clink</em>, <em>clink, clink,</em> of his steel toed boots made Henry think of prison chains. This is what you did when you were in the presence of Sheriff Bowers: One, you didn't <em>speak </em>unless spoken to; Two, you didn't <em>ask </em>him questions; Three, you looked him in the eyes when you did speak. The last one was the hardest for Henry. To his friends, they were talking to a mean, tight up the anus sheriff. They could go home and forget about their encounters with him. To Henry, it was like looking into the eyes of a mare, iniquitous and lacking any soul. </p><p>"What are you boys doing out here?" The sheriff asked.</p><p>The four boys looked at each other, back and forth. They looked to Henry who himself didn't want to speak. But, he <em>was </em>the leader. He looked into his father's eyes. "Nothing, sir."</p><p>"Nothing, huh?" He slowly craned his neck toward the fence where the lone mauve colored bottle still sat. "You out here shooting again, Henry?"</p><p>Crap. He knew he should've cleaned up the glass beforehand. He looked into his father's eyes, willing his voice to not shake. It was hard to tell the truth when he lied twenty four seven at school. Sometimes, what to do at school and what to do in the presence of Sheriff Bowers became intermingled and hazy. "No. No, sir," Henry lied.</p><p>"Boys?"</p><p>"We were, shooting," Belch said, the first one to crack. "Earlier. We were shooting earlier. But, um, we just forgot to clean up the glass. Right, boys?" Patrick and Victor nodded wordlessly.</p><p>"I see. Henry, tell your friends to leave. Wanna talk to you in the house."</p><p>Sheriff Bowers walked inside the house, the screen door falling shut behind him.</p><p>Henry looked toward his friends, not needing to say anything. What he wanted <em>them </em>to say was that they could stick around and make sure if he was okay. He wanted <em>them </em>to say that they could all share the blame. That's what he was hoping for. But of course, it wasn't the outcome.</p><p>"See ya Henry," Belch whispered, punching Henry lightly in the shoulder.</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah. Later."</p><p>The three boys got into the mustang, Belch in the driver's seat, Vic in the passenger, and Patrick in the back. They made their way out of the driveway and onto the main road, leaving Henry in a plume of dust.</p><p>Inside the house, his father stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He removed his sunglasses and fixed Henry with a stony expression. "Where's my gun?"</p><p>Henry shifted on his feet, sweat accumulating on his back. The house was heated like it was an actual furnace. The curtains covered the windows, letting little light fall through the translucency of the blinds. He wished he could fling those cream colored curtains wide open for the whole world to see what was going to happen. "I...I don't..."</p><p>"Think long and hard before you answer me." His dad walked toward Henry. His badge reflected light,  shining in Henry's face. "Your friends may lie for you, but <em>you</em> don't lie to me. Not ever. I advise you to tell the truth. Now. 'Fore I tear your hide."</p><p>Silently, Henry extracted the gun from the back of his pants. It felt slimy in his hands, but only because his hands were soaking with sweat. He handed the gun to his father, already missing the safety he felt when handling it.</p><p>"What did I tell you about taking my gun?"</p><p>"I was just..."</p><p>"Did I not make myself clear the last time?"</p><p>"You did."</p><p>His dad opened his eyes a little wider, waiting.</p><p>"Sir," Henry said.</p><p>"You think it's fun and games to take one of <em>my </em>guns and shoot whatever you please?" He grabbed Henry by the wrist and squeezed hard. "You think that makes you a man?"</p><p>The pain in his wrist increased. He could feel the bones shifting like tectonic plates in an earthquake, sparking jolts of sharp pain up his arm. If he wriggled free, he'd just make it worse for himself. "No."</p><p>"I don't know why you're still in school. You've failed two times, going on three if you don't straighten up your act this year. You must've not learned a few days ago."</p><p>At this, Henry's heart raced, the pain in his wrist a mere pinprick. "I did."</p><p>"You didn't."</p><p>"I did, dad. I did."</p><p>His dad let go of Henry's wrist. Henry definitely felt a bruise coming on. When it came to his physique, Sheriff Bowers was a lightweight, but his arms were stone cold from lifting. His workout bench near his recliner definitely kept his arms up to code. Henry would have to dig into his draw for a leather cuff to disguise the soon forming bruise. Maybe some beaded bracelets too.</p><p>Henry hoped that that was it. That he could go into his room and sleep. Or maybe he could go back outside and try to catch up with the boys.</p><p>Now, his father examined Henry's chest and stomach. "Shirt off."</p><p>Henry's voice croaked, fear oozing through the cracks of his resolve. "Dad, I..."</p><p>"Off."</p><p>Henry shut his eyes tightly as he removed his sleeveless red t shirt, letting it fall limply to the floor. His heart raced in his chest and his feet were cinderblocks on an ocean's bottom. His bones were already rearranging themselves, scrambling, making space for his dad's welts.</p><p>"Bedroom," his dad said. "Move it."</p><p>Henry's feet dragged as he marched to his bedroom door. He stopped at the door frame. With trembling arms and fingers, he lifted his arms and gripped the splintering wood above him. The splinters of the wood dug into his fingertips. Maybe it would alleviate some of the pain he was about to experience. </p><p>Then it came. Fast as a whip, hard as Flintstone tearing across his skin. The buckle of his dad's belt slashed across his lower spine. Henry seethed, sucking his teeth, blinking away hot, salty tears that would only make it worse if he did let out a cry. After all, Sheriff Bowers didn't raise no queer, didn't raise no pansy.</p><p>The belt slashed across his skin like a scythe through a field of wheat.</p><p>Again.</p><p>Again.</p><p>And <em>again</em>.</p><p><em>Again</em>.</p><p><em>Again</em>.</p><p>And <em>again</em>.</p><p>God. When will it stop, when will it end? He wanted to scream for his mom to help him, scream for her when he woke up from a nightmare. Then he realized once again the terrible realization, the undying fact that was engraved into his memory that she <em>wasn't</em> here. She wasn't coming back. And she <em>never</em> would be back. Not even for her little Henry.</p><p>The beating stopped. Henry still gripped the door above him out of fear.</p><p>"Next time," his dad said, whispering in his ear. "It'll be a lot worse if I catch you doing what you were doing."</p><p>Henry didn't turn around until he heard his father's footsteps fade away, until his father sat himself in the recliner and turned on the T.V. He took advantage of the moment and silently closed the door, heaving and shivering. He locked the door because he didn't have to worry about his dad coming into his room. He never did.</p><p>Henry walked like a dead Japanese girl in a horror movie that was dripping wet. His hands were shaking and his head felt as though it was full of thick chunky soup. The pain was insurmountable. He opened his drawer, pushed past loose change, his leather cuffs, and his hunting knife and took out the ointment that he stole from the pharmacy downtown. He untwisted the cap and squeezed the ointment into his hand, careful not to use it all for he didn't know when he'd make another solo trip to the drugstore.</p><p>At contact, the ointment made him hiss, almost to the point of screaming had he not bit his tongue. He tried to move slower, but no matter how sluggish he moved, the pain shot through him like jolts of electricity. Everything hurt, everything ached, everything quivered, everything bruised. Henry couldn't take it anymore and stopped, thinking that that would do for the areas that were more tender.</p><p>He digged through the pile of clothes on the floor until he came upon a week old blue t shirt. With more care, he slid it on over his head, careful so that the fabric didn't graze his backside.</p><p>It was only 5:45 PM, not even 6:00. Henry thought about sneaking out again. Maybe he'd go find Mike Hanlon, vent out his boiling anger inside of him on that country nigger, but he was in too much pain to dish it out.</p><p>He slipped into bed and curled in himself like a pill bug. He wrapped his arms around his knees as he bit into his dirty yellow pillow. </p><p>A paper man. That was what his dad told him that he was. A paper man blowing in the wind, crumbling at the site of danger.</p><p>Henry wasn't paper. He was flesh and bad blood. Still, inside, he felt as though he was tearing apart at the seams.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>6:45 PM</strong>
</p><p>"Eddie? Hey, you okay?" Beverly asked, pulling down the teat of the cow. A thin stream of milk poured into the silver bucket below the fly inhabiting animal. When Eddie replied by burping, probably gagging at the smell of manure around him, Beverly laughed. She should've expected that. "Guess I have my answer."</p><p>"Mike, dude, these cows or whatever... they're, um, they're vaccinated, right?" Eddie said, looking at the utter as if it was an alien probe.</p><p>"Yeah," Mike said with an easy smile. "We wouldn't milk them if they were riddled with something. You're good, man."</p><p>"Eddie, quit being a pussy. Their <em>cows</em>. You have them for lunch and dinner. And breakfast for those a little on the heavier side. Your mom knows." Richie squeezed another teat, enjoying the activity just a little <em>too </em>much. He was sharing a cow with Eddie. "It's also easier when you do it every night to yourself. Am I right, boys? Huh? Huh?" He looked at Beverly, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Bev, you happen to..."</p><p>"No comment," she said, rolling her eyes.</p><p>"It's easy," Ben said, ignoring Richie's high five. He scooted closer to the cow he was sharing with Stanley. "Just grab the teat and pull it. It won't hurt the cow and it won't hurt you."</p><p>"Are you kidding me? Do you know that BIV is most prevalent in cows?" Eddie dug into his fanny pack and brought out a pair of latex gloves. <em>Gloves</em>. "What if they start bleeding and their blood, like, leaks into my own? Then I'll have it. You're not going to catch me on the side of the road choking on my own vomit with maggots and shit eating away at my insides. Nope. Uh. Uh. <em>You </em>guys can take that risk if you want to. Me? I'm playing it safe."</p><p>Beverly bent low to get a clear view of Billy on the opposite side of their cow. "So he's <em>always</em> like this?" She asked at his knees.</p><p>Bill bent low too, his widow's peak hair falling like thin rolls of chocolate. "Believe it or not he's a-actually handling this pretty well."</p><p>"Oh<em>yeah</em>," Stanley said, sarcastically. He watched Eddie tap an index finger at the utter, poking it and shuddering when it flapped around. "He's handling it like a champ." Ben laughed from his side of the cow and Stanley smiled pridefully at his own quip.</p><p>"C'mon, Eddie." Beverly leaned back in her stool so she could get a glimpse of the boy near the open doors. Even his <em>shorts </em>were rolled up. "You got this. And in case something <em>does </em>happen, you know we'll be the first ones to take you the ER. And you won't have to worry about us leaving your side."</p><p>"That's right," Mike said, dragging a hay cube across the barn toward the corner where stack upon stack of cubes resided. Sweat pooled on his neck, soaking his white t shirt. "We're Losers."</p><p>Beverly raised her hands and started a rhythmic clapping that you'd do at a football game, not in a straw filled barn filled with cows and wandering chickens. "Let's go, Eddie, let's go." <em>Clap</em>. <em>Clap. </em>"Let's go, Eddie, let's go." <em>Clap. Clap.</em></p><p>"L-L-Let's go, Eddie, let's go," Bill joined in. "Let's go, Eddie, l-let's go." </p><p>The other boys joined in, stomping the barn's floor, making the dust from the hay whoosh up into the air, shining like tinsel in the rays of sun. The barn rattled, shook under their stomping. The chickens clucked faster and the cows <em>mooed </em>even louder. Beverly wished she could stay here. I mean, not <em>here</em> in a smelly barn, but here with these boys for the rest of her life. She never felt this kind of kinship before, this kind of connectedness. Derry was a hub of missing persons posters, assholes, creepy men, and girls who brought others down instead of lifting them up. She would gladly remain in Derry with these six boys; riding their bikes, swimming in the quarry, and cramming themselves in the photo booth at the arcade to take pictures. They were all flames. January ember flames if she was to be exact. And they lighted Beverly' world like the sun does on the brink of Summer.</p><p>The group shouted cheers when Eddie squirted milk from the utter...only to be followed by volcanic laughter when he squirted the milk onto <em>himself </em> than in the pail. Yeah, with the way he was running around and screaming, you'd think he was a chicken with his head cut off. Surprisingly he didn't lay any eggs.</p><p>The group resumed milking the cows while Mike continued to drag hay cube after hay cub into the barn. Beverly's hands were starting to chafe from the constant stroking so she announced that she was taking a little break. "Ok, I'm stopping."</p><p>"Me too," Bill said, flexing his fingers. "We make a good team."</p><p>"Never thought we'd be spending our Friday night milking cows together. We might've reached an all time low this time." She petted the cow and it <em>mooed </em>in agreement. In her mind.</p><p>Bill smiled and laughed softly. His smile didn't occupy his whole face. It was small, hesitant, like he was holding back what was inside. Beverly found this cute. In fact, she found everything about him cute. The way he thought before he spoke, the way he looked after everyone even if he himself was scared, the way he looked at Beverly with earnest eyes that made her want to turn around, just to check that in fact he was <em>looking</em>, not <em>leering</em>. "Really? I think it's an i-i-improvement on our social status."</p><p>"So, what?" Beverly removed her ankle brown boots and rubbed her toes. "We'll go around telling everyone that we're teat pulling experts?"</p><p>"Exactly. J-jessie would approve." He rubbed the coat of the cow.</p><p>"Wait? Jessie?"</p><p>"Yeah, that's her name."</p><p>Oh no. That wasn't going to fly on her watch. Beverly crossed her legs. "I like Maribelle."</p><p>"Maribelle?"</p><p>"What's wrong with that?" She laughed.</p><p>"Maribelle reminds me of an overweight aunt you'd find stuck in her rocker," Bill said with disgust.</p><p>"Okay, what about Narissa?"</p><p>"Better." Bill held up a finger. "But I bet I can top that."</p><p>"Is that so?"</p><p>He stood and stretched. She did too. She had to stomp her feet a few times to wake them up because they were going all sorts of pins and needless down there. "Okay," he said, standing in front of her. "How about...Annie?"</p><p>"An-Annie?" Beverly was flabbergasted, scoffing as if she was deeply offended. "Wha-How's that better than Narissa?"</p><p>"Michael J-Jackson's named a song after her."</p><p>"Yeah. I'm pretty sure he wasn't singing about a cud chewing cow in his song."</p><p>"Hey, It's possible.  You n-n-n-never know."</p><p>They both laughed, taking delight in their procrastination. When Beverly looked around, she noticed that Ben quickly looked away. What was <em>that</em> for?</p><p>"Hey," Bill said, taking back her attention. "That was cool that you stood up to Bowers earlier."</p><p>"Oh, thanks." She crossed her arms. "Someone had to. I'm just glad I didn't do it sooner."</p><p>"You know he could've hurt you. It's not b-b-beneath him."</p><p>She nodded, knowing that it could've gone South. "I'm not surprised. But he had it coming."</p><p>"You know if he h-h-hit you, I..." Bill looked away, then looked up again. "I mean, <em>we</em> would've been your b-b-backup."</p><p>Beverly smiled a genuine smile, her cheeks heating up from the inside out. "Thanks." Then she thought of Henry and the moment she had where she saw something in him that made her want to reach out. She still mulled it over. Even on the way over here, she still questioned herself, tried to come to the conclusion as to <em>why </em>she was hung over Henry Bowers. "Bill, can I ask you something?"</p><p>"Yeah. Of course."</p><p>She bit her lip, trying to find the most delicate way to phrase the question. Then she remembered that regarding Henry Bowers <em>nothing</em> was delicate. "Has Henry always been...you know, the way he is now?"</p><p>Bill sighed through his nose, stuffing his hands in his blue jean shorts. "As long I can remember. Why?"</p><p>"I was just wondering if he ever was...I don't know, maybe, a good person once."</p><p>"A good person? Bowers?" Across the room, Richie fixed Beverly with an amused look. He took off his glasses and wiped them clean. "The guy <em>deliberately</em> goes out of his way everyday to make our lives a living fucking nightmare."</p><p>"Yeah," Eddie said, agreeing. "He's just an asshole who takes pleasure in pain. Mainly <em>ours</em>.I'm surprised that he's not in jail."</p><p>Stanley spoke up, releasing his grip from the teat. "He's an angry, psychotic, vindictive, punk who doesn't deserve friends." Beverly was shocked at the amount of malice in the Jewish boy's words. Obviously his hate burned deep like a gorge. "He just needs to...to..." He shook his head, not even saying what Beverly already knew.</p><p>The only ones who didn't say anything were Mike and Ben. Ben opted to focus solely on his work in front of him. It was easy for him to brush away encounters, Beverly figured out. She didn't think he had a mean bone in his body. Whether out of fear of not speaking his name or completely ignoring the subject, Beverly couldn't figure out. Mike? Good old Mike? He continued with his work, growing quieter. Beverly worried that she stepped on a nerve, knowing that Mike and Henry weren't exactly best friends until the end.</p><p>There had to be <em>something </em>more to Henry. She tried to dismiss the notion, tried to agree with the rest of the boys. After all, she couldn't stand the guy as much as the next person. He's one of the ones who spread rumors about her promiscuity. But...but...still, there was no denying that moment of openness, that moment of glimpsing into the window and seeing something fragile like an orphan dropped off at a doorstep in the rain. Hmm. Maybe it's her <em>own</em> fault, her own willingness to see something else in the bully. She'd been trying to see something else in her father and it still failed her to find it. She could've been projecting her own pipe dream onto Henry to cope with the fact that her father was the king of creeps, the lord of pervertedness.</p><p>Oh, well. Maybe it was nothing.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>"You know what? Sorry for bringing him up. I don't even know why I asked," Beverly said.</p><p>"No worries," Bill said, throwing away the whole conversation as if it never happened. "You can't be a Loser without a dumb question."</p><p>Richie stood up and strode over to the duo. "That's right." He placed himself between Bill and Beverly and wrapped his arms around their necks, bringing them closer. "Once, I asked Stanley if you can grow your junk by reading from the Torah."</p><p>"What?" Beverly asked, bewildered. She looked at Stanley, who just shook his head in a <em>see what I have to deal with </em>expression. "That's...I-I'm pretty sure that's not how it works."</p><p>"Yeah. I know because it <em>didn't</em> work. That's false advertisement right there, bud," Richie said to Stanley. "And I'm still waiting for the shitload of gifts I'm supposed to receive."</p><p>Stanley groaned toward the ceiling and continued milking the cow.</p><p>"See?" Bill said, pushing Richie off of him. "Stupid questions are common." </p><p>Beverly took comfort in that. Not <em>total </em>comfort because she was still stuck up on Henry. Oh well. She and Bill sat back down, getting back to work. "Ok, then. I have one more dumb question."</p><p>"G-G-Go ahead," Bill said, sliding his stool closer to the cow.</p><p>"Would Daisy be a suceptible name?"</p><p>"Daisy? <em>Daisy</em>?"</p><p>"Yes, Daisy. You know, the cartoon character."</p><p>"Yeah, I got t-that part, but <em>Daisy</em>? No."</p><p>Beverly talked into the cow's ear. "Do you like Daisy?"</p><p>The cow just continued to chew its cud, oblivious.</p><p>"She agrees," Beverly said.</p><p>Bill rolled his eyes and began milking again. When their knuckles grazed one another, Beverly tried to stomp down the warm feeling her gut. She noticed that Bill was looking at her for a nanosecond before going back to work. They milked in mostly silence then, the sound of the milk hitting the pail drowning out her ferociously beating heart.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>8:00 PM</strong>
</p><p>Derry's sky was an indigo orange, the sun now disappearing over the horizon. It was the kind of sunset that tinged everything in luscious mauve and deep blues, making the city feel as though it was in a constant bubble bath. The trees filtered the jam colored light, swaying back and forth in the August breeze. Oh, yeah, if there was one thing Derry did <em>correctly</em>, and that's saying something, it was the lack of big corporate city lights. The Losers Club rode their bikes among the streets, weaving around each other, taking pleasure in the evening light. This was Beverly's favorite part of the day, when the world was on the verge of night, when the sun and the moon met halfway and said goodbye before the other ascended and the other descended. She didn't want to go home, but she <em>had </em>to. It was like the feeling of being used to living on campus. You didn't want to go home to what you left behind, but at the same time its your home and you need a place to eat and sleep.</p><p>The group parked their bikes outside of Beverly's place. "Here's my stop," Beverly said, walking her bike under the iron stairs attached to her building.</p><p>"Sure you don't want to hang with us?" Bill asked before pedaling away. "We were thinking about g-g-going to get some ice-cream before turning in."</p><p>"Yeah," Eddie said, checking his watch. "We were...oh, fuck. I need to get home. It's time for my medicine."</p><p>"Your medicine?" Richie looked to the others and shook his head warily. "It's not in those infinite fanny packs you have?"</p><p>"No! I forgot it! I got to get home. See ya guys."</p><p>Eddie and Richie started pedaling away. "You know, we can still hit the ice-cream parlor after," Richie said.</p><p>"I know, but I don't think we'll make it," Eddie said.</p><p>"We'll make it if we pedal fast."</p><p>"I can go by myself you know."</p><p>"Yeah, right. Your skinny Skeletor ass going by yourself? Don't think so. I need you to rip off of." Their conversation diminished as they rode away.</p><p>"Jeez, you'd think those two were boyfriends or something," Stanley said, hands on his hips. </p><p>Beverly cocked her head to the side. "You know. I can totally see that. Is that weird?"</p><p>"Yep," Bill said. "But were a-all weird."</p><p>"Agreed," Mike said. "Well, except me. Don't know if I'm on par with you guys."</p><p>Ben laughed. "Oh, you <em>will </em>be, Mike. You need to embrace your weird."</p><p>The dark skinned young man lifted his eyebrow. "I don't think you'll catch me swimming in the quarry in my <em>underwear</em>. That's not me."</p><p>"But it's the best feeling!" Stanley said. "You've got nothing be ashamed of, dude."</p><p>"Yeah," Ben said, zipping up his blue hoodie. "I mean, look at me. If <em>I </em>can do it, you can."</p><p>"Hmm. We'll see."</p><p>Stanley wanted to get a head start on the ice-cream, so as to minimize their waiting time. He and Mike pedaled away, leaving Bill, Beverly, and Ben.</p><p>Beverly noticed that this was becoming a thing; the three of them remaining until one of them reluctantly left. "Sure you're okay?" Bill asked among the sound of crickets.</p><p>"I'll be fine," Beverly said.</p><p>"Alright. B-B-Ben, you coming with?"</p><p>Ben cleared his throat. "Oh, I, yeah. In a minute. I just want to...make sure my tires are still up to code." He leaned over and patted his tires for emphasis.</p><p>Bill nodded, said goodbye, gave a final look for confirmation, and pedaled away.</p><p>Beverly watched Ben. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder, looking like he was carrying the world's biggest secret. "Ok. Why did you really stay behind?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer.</p><p>Ben looked back and forth before opening his bag and pulled out a CD of New Kids On The Block. </p><p>"I knew it," she said.</p><p> "The guys would never let me live it down if they found out I listened to them." Ben flipped over the CD, fanning it in front of him. "Thanks for keeping it between us."</p><p>"No problem." She took the CD from him. "If more guys were like you, the world would be a...<em>slightly </em>better place."</p><p>The young man blushed, shrugging his shoulders. "It's just nice for someone to get me, is all."</p><p>"I hear you. Oh, by the way I finished the book you gave me. It was pretty good. Didn't think you were a fan of Gerard Reve."</p><p>Ben spun the pedal of his bike with his foot. "I know it's a boring book, but I felt like I connected with Fritz. Going through life talking about stories, feeling like no one really listens. I'm a nerd, I know, but Fritz to me is like...well, not like, he <em>is </em>a microcosm of all the people who feel like they're outcasts, who feel <em>unwanted</em>."</p><p>Wow. It still shocked Beverly so much how articulate he was. Not that she wasn't surprised because in Social Studies he <em>always</em> had answers locked and loaded for Ms. Douglass. "Story of our lives," Beverly said. She looked at her house, looming over her like it was going to swallow her up in its walls. "Hey, I have to get inside. Thanks for the CD."</p><p>"No problem," Ben said. He looked at her a little longer, looking like he was contemplating whether or not to make some kind of move. "I'll see you tomorrow?"</p><p>"You bet." As Ben pedaled away, Beverly cupped her mouth. "See ya, New Kid!"</p><p>Ben's face filled with light. He turned his head briefly. "Please don't go girl! You would ruin my whole..." He bumped into a trash can causing him to fly a little forward over the handlebars. Beverly covered her mouth, trying to hide her snort. "I'm okay...I'm good."</p><p>"Hang tough!" Beverly shouted. Ben disappeared around the corner, a silhouette against the penumbra forming around the neighborhood.</p><p>She was alone again, nothing but the dark streets and her house calling her name. She clutched the CD to her heart as if it would protect her from the curse that this town was plagued with. Her feet were unwilling, but sooner or later she had to go inside. She sat outside for a few minutes on the steps until she was tired of putting off the inevitable. She headed up the stairs and went inside.</p><p>***</p><p>The house was dark, quiet as usual. Nothing but the chatter from the T.V. filling the loud silence. Beverly shuddered and didn't move for a few minutes. The dark green paint-job made her feel like she was drowning, suffocating in an algae infested...marsh. There was a haze in the hallway, dark bloom lighting that fell due to the rising moon. Now she wished she had just went with Ben to join him and the other boys for ice-cream. She could be there, licking cookie dough ice-cream instead of here in this house with stilted air and creaking walls.</p><p>She tiptoed down the hall, impossible because of the weak wooden floorboards. No matter how slow she moved, the noise amplified, disrupting the silence of the house. Whether it was heel toe or toe heel, she couldn't will the floor to stop moaning. She held her breath as she walked, as if it would summon him.</p><p>She peeked into the living room. Nothing. The tin fan oscillated on the coffee table, doing nothing to cool down the heat of the place. The couch where he slept was creased, the covers thrown back and the stained pillow indicating that he had woken up. Where was he? Maybe he stepped out, called for a shift to clean up the school. Only no. His ring of keys as well as his maintenance cap where on the coffee table. Beverly's room was just down the hallway. Just a few quick strides and she'd be home free.</p><p>"Hey, Bevy." The voice caused Beverly to turn around so fast that it could've caused her whiplash. She had been staring into the living room as she was walking to her room, not realizing that her dad was blocking the way to her room. How could a man that size be so inconspicuous? He had to be an apparition, a ghost in her mind. Only he wasn't. He was flesh and blood with eyes that trailed over her like slugs.</p><p>"Hi, daddy." Beverly held the CD in her hand tightly.</p><p>"You're home a little late." He walked toward her. He was wearing his uniform, as always.</p><p>Beverly looked past him toward her bedroom. Hopefully he would take the hint that she wanted to go to sleep. "I was with some friends. There's nothing to worry about."</p><p>The house moaned and popped all around her. On the T.V., the audience was laughing at a comedian's joke. Her dad didn't take her eyes off of her. He smelled of musk and cleaning products with a little alcohol. "You know I worry about you, right?" He reached out and ran his fingers behind her ear.</p><p>"Yes, daddy. I know." His touch made her want to convulse. "I was just heading to my room."</p><p>"What's that?" He pointed toward the CD. His eyes didn't leave hers. "Who gave that to you?"</p><p>Crap. She knew she should've hidden it. She could've stuffed it in her blouse or maybe could've just had Ben hold onto it. She didn't want to incriminate him or <em>any</em> of the other boys. They were her safe place, her solace in this royally screwed up world. "One of my friends gave it to me. <em>She</em> wanted me to have it."</p><p>If the half truth worked, Beverly couldn't tell. Her dad only nodded, the smile on his face going past the border of Creepyville and landing in All Out Unnerving Town. He ran a hand through the hair he had left on his head. "Mmm. Ok, then."</p><p>"Good night, daddy." She moved past him, but he caught her hand. She let out a quiet yelp.</p><p>"Bevy?" He asked in a grainy voice. "Are you still my little girl?"</p><p><em>No!</em> she wanted to scream. She's not her little girl. She's thirteen, not the same little girl who wore pigtails when she was younger. She wasn't the little girl who loved riding on her mother's back. No. Her body was changing, her attitude on boys changing. That wasn't an invitation for him to act as though she was <em>married </em>to him. No. She was his <em>daughter</em>, nothing more and nothing less. </p><p>Instead, she said, "Yes, daddy." She swallowed and looked into his lazy eyes. "I'm your little girl."</p><p>He stroked the webs of her fingers. His hands were veiny, years of working with cleaning products making them rough and calloused. "Good."</p><p>Giving her a kiss on the forehead, he retired to the living room and sat on the sofa. Quickly, Beverly made her way into her room and closed the door.</p><p>She leaned against the door, trying to breathe as her throat constricted. It never got better, did it? Even on her good days, her high was brought down when dealing with her father, pushed aside when walking into her gloomy home with no mother, no laughter, no love except the perverted one her father harbored for her. She couldn't change that. No, she couldn't change him any more than he could change one of the lightbulbs in the school that constantly went out. She was <em>always </em>going to be his little girl. Her frightened, submissive, little girl.</p><p>She ripped open the CD that she forgot she was holding. She took off her boots and climbed into bed with the CD in hand, not bothering to change into her pajamas. She popped the disk into her CD player, put on her headphones, and pressed play.</p><p>The boy band quelled her shivers while she was under the covers. She imagined that she was with Bill, Ben, Stanley, and the others at the ice-cream parlor. She was listening to Richie's jokes and Eddie's rebuttals. She was laughing along with Mike, who shook his head constantly at the groups silliness and immaturity.</p><p>She imagined her mother, who's photo was hidden underneath her bed.</p><p>Beverly <em>tried</em> to understand why her mother would take her own life. She was sick, she was in pain, Beverly got <em>that</em> part. But she couldn't fathom why her mother didn't stick it out, didn't fight it out. If she was here, dad wouldn't be this way. He wouldn't be ogling his won daughter. Then again, most men in this town looked over her the same way her dad did. She'd never know.</p><p>Beverly though about what Ben said, about how people feel like they're never heard as they stumble through life trying to make sense of themselves. No matter how much she stumbled and picked herself up, Beverly would never understand her mother's self mutilation and would probably never forgive her for abandoning her.</p><p>As of right now though? Being buried in the ground under the Earth's crust didn't sound too bad. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. When A Stranger Calls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Henry Bowers gets a phone call that may change his life forever. But is it real? Could it actually be...her? Meanwhile, Beverly and Bill take a bike ride through Derry, all the while the former's thinking about her mother. Also, a little rescue mission's in order when nice guy Mike doesn't show up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Here's my second chapter! I hope you enjoy. I've been busy with other projects so I'll update as frequently as I can. Like and share if you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>August 15, 1988</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>10:35 AM</strong>
</p><p>Breakfast was as <em>splendid </em>as an early morning root canal in a pet cemetery. Stale toast that was burned at the edges. Half ass whisked eggs that contained bits of eggshells in it. And...well, that was pretty much it. Henry knew that he himself wasn't a master chef, but he <em>had </em>to eat. It's not like his dad was up and about wearing an apron and going all Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen. No, he was where he was as usual, sitting in his recliner snoring with his mouth agape while the T.V. spewed out a rerun of <em>The Dukes of Hazard</em>. Yeah. Father of the Year Award definitely does <em>not </em>go to Sheriff Oscar Bowers.</p><p>Henry sat at the dining room table, eating the burnt toast, trying to ignore the way the burnt pieces lodged between his teeth or how it scraped the roof of his mouth. Compared to the pain he felt in his back, the less than subpar food was a gourmet meal. It was still sore. No, not even sore. It was spine curdling. Whenever he shifted in his seat, whenever he scratched his shoulder, even when he reached for the pepper container, his back felt like it was ripping like taffy, stretching like molasses until the thin webs broke apart into an electric storm of pain. He seethed each time, drew in a breath whenever the pain came. Injuries were always worse whenever they were healing. On a daily basis? It was like being in Hell.</p><p>He thought he would get used to it. He <em>should've </em>gotten used to it. After all, Henry knew that his dad wasn't the <em>nicest</em> of guys, knew that if he disobeyed his father, his injuries would only resurface. He tried to make it apart of his everyday life, tried to minimize it as second nature, like brushing your teeth or washing your hands or doing your homework, but it stuck out like a jagged surface of rock on a smooth terrain. No matter how much Henry braced for it, no matter the number of times he closed his eyes to block out the blows, he couldn't escape it and then the fact that he would probably be stuck in this one bit town made him wonder if there was anything here for him. And if there wasn't anything here...what would be out there <em>beyond</em> Derry? What if...he could make something for himself and...maybe he could travel and see places and....no. No. That wasn't in the cards, wasn't in the crystal ball that seemed to grow blurrier every time Henry looked into it. If he was going to be stuck in this good for <em>literally </em>nothing town, then he might as well take advantage of it. And he'd start by cruising with Belch.</p><p>Henry took another bite of his eggs that smelled a little off when the phone hanging from the kitchen wall rang. <em>Brrrrrinng</em>. <em>Brrrrrrring. </em>Thinking that it was probably Belch, Henry stood and walked toward the phone. He stole a look into the den where his dad still sat in his chair sleeping, oblivious to the ringing. Some sheriff. For all Henry knew, it could've been a call about a break in or a murder or a fight that needed breaking up. Hold up. No. Henry didn't care about his father's job. Why the hell should he?</p><p>Henry snatched the phone off the hook, the ringing now making him agitated. It seemed to add to the pain on his back, as if the sound was his wounds screaming, begging. "Hello? Belch?"</p><p>There was nothing on the end. Just static. Henry pushed the phone to his ear to try to block out the noise from the T.V. Still nothing. Maybe somebody called the wrong number or maybe it was one of those faggots from the Losers Club prank calling him. Ha. Yeah, if that was the case Henry knew that he would <em>definitely </em>get back at that. It was probably that loud mouth Richie or that country nigger Mike. Maybe it was that s-s-stuttering Bill <em>Dick</em>brough or that OCD wuss Stanley.</p><p>Maybe it was Beverly not saying anything on the other end of the line, taunting him. He flared his nostrils when he remembered her words, about what it felt like to have a dad as a pig and that he would be stuck here.</p><p>"Hello? Who's there?" Henry tapped his bare foot impatiently on the kitchen floor. "Belch? Is that you? Why are you playing around on my phone? If you're outside, just say so." He craned his neck to look into the living room. His dad was still snoring, asleep. Jesus, the guy could sleep through the Second Coming. "You know how my old man feels about that shit."</p><p>The static went away. Now it was dead quiet. Silence. Graveyard silence. Um. Okay, that was a little <em>ominous</em>. Henry shook his head. No. What was there to be scared for? These crappy wall phones lagged out all the time. Maybe a power line fizzled out or maybe dear old dad forgot to pay the bill again.</p><p>"Hello?" Henry repeated, only <em>slightly </em>creeped out. "Who's this? What's your damage?"</p><p>Finally, a voice came through. "<em>Hello</em>?"</p><p>"I can't hear you. Speak up."</p><p>"<em>Is he...is he nearby</em>?"</p><p>"Is who nearby? Who <em>is </em>this?"</p><p>Henry could tell that the voice was feminine, not that this didn't deter his effort to try to hang up on the woman. "You called <em>us</em>. Tell me who you are or I'm hangin' up."</p><p>The woman on the end of the line sighed shakily. It was like she was treading through freezing waist high water. "<em>Henry</em>? <em>Henry is that you</em>?"</p><p>"Who is this?" Alarm jackknifed through him, making him look into the living rom. His dad was still sleeping and he felt like calling his name. Then he remembered that he was nothing but a sorry excuse for a sheriff <em>and </em>a dad and knew he did his second job a lot worse. "How do you know my name?"</p><p>"<em>I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I'll...I'll reach out at a better time. Goodbye</em>."</p><p>The line went dead, the dial tone a low humming in Henry's ear. He gripped the phone tightly, wanting to hang up, but at the same time wondering...who <em>was</em> that woman? How did she know his name. And why did her voice, so small and featherlike, arouse in him feelings of vulnerability and anger? Was dad <em>seeing </em>someone? If that was the case, Henry would've laughed right there. No way on God's green earth would his dad be able to hold a meaningful relationship with <em>anyone</em>. So what then?</p><p>"Who was that on the phone?"</p><p>Henry turned to see his dad standing behind him, sleepy eyed. He was buttoning up his shirt, ready to go to work. "Someone called."</p><p>"I didn't hear anything ring."</p><p>"Someone called here. Some lady."</p><p>His dad plucked the phone from his hand and put it to his ear. When no voices came on the other end of the line, he placed the phone back on the hook. "Don't go answering calls without getting me first. That clear?"</p><p>"There <em>was</em> someone on the other end. She hung up. She..."</p><p>"Is. That. Clear?"</p><p>It was too early for this. Too early for another potential beating. Henry looked at his father's face, looking over the hair graying at his temples, his beard that was as thin as bristles on a brush. His eyes were a dull blue, diluted and empty. Henry stared into them. "Yes, sir."</p><p>"I have to go to work. You know the drill. Stay out of trouble." His father went to the fridge and took out a beer, taking big gulps before placing it back in the fridge. "If <em>anyone's</em> in my house while I'm gone I'll tear you a new one."</p><p>Making final adjustments to his police uniform, his dad put on his shades, gave Henry a scrutinizing look you'd give mold on a toilet seat, and left. No goodbye, no telling him to be safe. Nothing.</p><p>Henry sat back down at the kitchen table, his appetite long gone. That woman. She sounded familiar, but didn't. It was like staring at a stranger from across the bridge. You felt like you've <em>seen</em> them before, felt like you've maybe exchanged pleasantries at a baseball game or on a train only to realize that they were just a stranger. But <em>this </em>stranger knew Henry's name, spoke it with such sweetness and heartbreak that made Henry uncomfortable. Who was that woman? How did she...</p><p>The phone rang again. Henry bolted upright and dashed toward the phone. He didn't even let the other person on the end of the line speak. "Why are you calling here? Who is this. Answer me."</p><p>"<em>Henry. It's Belch. Get your butt ugly ass outside</em>."</p><p>Forgetting that he was hanging with Belch, he threw his food in the trash. He put on his acid washed jeans and a black short sleeved button up shirt. Before leaving, he stole a look at the phone again, waiting for it to ring again. Nothing. Whatever. Henry wouldn't dwell on it. He turned off the T.V., but not before listening to what the announcer said.</p><p>"<em>Tragedy strikes Derry again as nine year old Emily Tallis </em><em>disappeared last night around midnight. Authorities say that the victim's parents Ronald and Olive Tallis reported that they heard screams coming from their daughter's bedroom. The strangest thing about this alleged abduction was that the windows were locked in her room as well as the front and back doors of their lovely home. There was no sign of a break in whatsoever, yet the daughter still remains to be found. If anyone has information on the whereabouts of this young girl please call....</em></p><p>Henry clicked off the T.V., not paying attention to the phone number the news lady gave out. Another disappearance. Big deal. That was Derry. If you had to get out by disappearing, Henry envied her.</p><p>The horn honked outside. Henry stepped outside into the assaulting heat. "I'm coming, fag. Quit honking."</p><p>Belch flipped him the bird. "Fuck you, dude. I've been waiting for five minutes. It's hot out here."</p><p>Henry slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. "No shit."</p><p>"So what are we doing today?" Belch took off his cap and fanned himself. It always surprised Henry how well kept his hair was underneath his cap. Considering that his current <em>Angry, Young, and Poor </em>t shirt was riding up, showing a bit of his stomach, as well as the fact that his jeans <em>already </em>had dirt on them, it was a miracle how his brown hair didn't suffer the same abuse. "Movies? Arcade? Cruise through town?"</p><p>The surrounding silver maples filtered lime green and golden light. The ambiance shone down on Henry through the sunroof. He leaned his head back, letting it warm his face. "Don't know yet."</p><p>"Wanna pick up Vic and Pat?"</p><p>"Nah."</p><p>"Good. You wanna know what Pat showed me? Super fucked up." He burped, the air now smelling of fish sticks and cheese.</p><p>Henry covered his nose. "Dude. Not cool." He rolled down his window, freeing the car of the stench. "What did Pat do?"</p><p>"So yesterday after we left, I dropped him off and you wanna know what that psycho did? It was...it was just <em>disgusting</em>."</p><p>"<em>You're </em>calling <em>him </em>disgusting?" Henry ran his fingers down his mullet. Sooner later he was gonna need a haircut. "Like you didn't just stink up the air with what you ate yesterday?"</p><p>Belch patted his stomach with one hand. "I'm eating good. <em>You </em>should try it with your scrawny ass. But anyway, so, when I dropped him off he ran inside his house and brought me a jar of green heads."</p><p>"The hell are green heads?"</p><p>"Greenheads. Flies."</p><p>"Ok. So?"</p><p>The town of Derry was coming into view, a small bump in the distance. "He wanted to show them to me. Some of them were moving. I nearly knocked his ass out for showing me that creepy shit."</p><p>Henry shuddered involuntarily. He was friends with some capital W weirdos. "Nasty."</p><p>"Right? Like, dude, keep that sick crap to yourself. Made my skin crawl."</p><p>"Pussy. Going soft on me." Henry held the <em>Oh shit </em>handlebar.</p><p>"Whatever, man. But, hey, guess what Lydia told me last night?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"So, she told me she thinks she wants me to meet her family since we've been dating for a few months. Can you <em>believe </em>that?"</p><p>Henry let out a raspberry. "Nah. Can't say I do. You gonna meet her people?"</p><p>Belch shook his head, letting out a sigh that was weary and surprisingly <em>sincere</em>, not in the <em>whatever, it'll pass </em>tone that he usually carried. "No. Look at me. Her folks are on the up and up. Can't really show up in a flannel shirt and mudboots."</p><p>"They wouldn't like you anyway. Your breath'd scare them all away."</p><p>Henry waited for Belch's rebuttal, which usually consisted of a punch in the shoulder and with him laughing it off as he usually did. It was only for a <em>split </em>moment, barely a hairline fracture, but Henry noticed that Belch stayed silent. It was only for a moment, but Henry caught it. "Yeah," Belch said, finally giving one of his laughs. "Probably."</p><p>They drove, going a  bit over the speed limit while listening to the Metallica band that flooded through the speakers. The encounter with the woman on the phone still shook Henry. Victor and Patrick weren't there. It was just him and Belch, alone. They were closer friends. Hell, Belch was probably the only <em>real </em>friend Henry had. Sneaking out at night, blasting bottles with a gun, doing donuts in Belch's mustang-it was a typical boy friendship. Aside from Belch's coming and going love life and his love of fast food and animals (kittens were his favorite), Henry really didn't know anything about his personal life. I mean, not that he <em>wanted </em>to know. Henry was fine with Belch not sharing his personal life.</p><p>But this little tidbit of information made Henry wonder if he should tell Belch about the beatings, about the woman on the phone. Would he listen or would he dismiss it like a used condom? Henry thought about how to phrase the question and he decided to bring it up as nonchalantly as he possibly could.</p><p>"Some woman called my house earlier today."</p><p>"Huh?!" Belch shouted over the radio.</p><p>Henry leaned forward and turned the radio down. "Open your ears, dip. I said a woman called my house earlier."</p><p>"<em>Oooooooh</em>." Belch licked his lips. "Save some for me, huh."</p><p>Maybe this was a bad idea. If he backpedaled now, Belch would notice it for sure and insist. "Kind of..."</p><p>"Kind of what?"</p><p>"Just kinda freaked me out a little. Weird."</p><p>"Why did it freak you out? Was she a cougar?"</p><p>Henry backhanded him in the stomach, causing Belch to let out an <em>oomph</em>. "No, fucker. She <em>knew </em>my name."</p><p>Belch rubbed his stomach from the blow. "Really? Did she say who she was."</p><p>"No. She didn't say. Just that she would try to call back later." What if she called back when he was out? What if he already missed his chance to find out more about the woman. Shoot.</p><p>"Maybe your dad's seeing someone?"</p><p>"I thought about that. No, couldn't be. My dad's a mean son of a bitch." Henry rubbed his shoulder, the bruise from last night making him silently groan. "It's a death wish for anyone who wants to get with Sheriff Fuckup." He chewed it over, wondering if he should tell more about what his father did behind closed doors. Before he would, he wasn't going to cry into his best friend's shoulder like a little girl not making friend's on the first day of school. No, Henry wouldn't do that. But a small part of him hoped, <em>longed </em>for Belch to dive deeper. "Hits like one too."</p><p>Henry waited. Belch didn't take his eyes off the road and made no move to look in Henry's direction. "I'm sure he does," he said and then lout an burp.</p><p>Henry's hope faded, replaced instantly by acidic venom that made his jaw twitch. He stayed silent as they reach Derry's boundary.</p><p>In the city people walked about in knee length dresses and suspenders. The narrow streets forced Belch to cease his reckless driving. "Hey," he said, pointing. "Look who it is."</p><p>Henry squinted through the window and saw Mike Hanlon. He was outside of the butcher shop, resting on his bike. He was talking to Mr. Wallace, the owner. Smiling. Laughing. It made Henry's blood boil, made him grip the handlebar above his head even tighter so much that it probably would've pried loose from its screws.</p><p>Mike rode away through the alley. "Wanna go after him?" Belch asked, planting his cap firmly on his head.</p><p>Henry nodded, anger at his own situation and at Mike forming into a dirty bomb of raw anger. "Let's get him."</p><p>Belch obeyed and followed Mike through the alley.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>12:38 PM</strong>
</p><p>Man, was it <em>hot</em>. Ok, this wasn't <em>new </em>to Beverly, but she truly believed that Derry ran along the line of the Equator. Sure, summer vacation was over but its hold still lingered on the people, the buildings, the cars, and the children. That sense of freedom was there, reminding everyone that they had a chance to <em>make </em>something out of their time here in Derry. But not everyone could get a chance to make something of themselves, to grow into a better, stronger, braver, person then they were now. After all, Emily Tallis wouldn't get that chance. And now she was gone, probably floating in the sewers where...that <em>thing </em>probably lived. She found out this morning while she was seated at breakfast with her dad. Before he left, he mentioned that he would be back later today and remind Beverly that Emily Tallis had disappeared last night. </p><p>If it wasn't for the fact that her dad looked at her with probing eyes while he said this, looking over her like he did last night, Beverly would've appreciated his concern. Now, she just waited on the steps of her building, smoking one of her cigarettes. She was waiting for Bill to show up so that she could talk to him about the new disappearance, then they would meet up with the rest of the Losers at the town square. </p><p>Beverly blew out a plume of smoke, the translucent cloud evaporating in the air as slow as the sun ascended over Derry. She watched the river that ran along her house. Hmm. It wasn't <em>really </em>much of a river. More of a creek with the way the water barely reached over your knees, but it had the calming sounds of a river. The grass that grew in front of their unit was the color of jade, wet to the touch. She heard the cars going across the bridge, coming and going, coming and going, an ear orgasmic mantra that soothed ones raging nerves. It was also a river to think of memories. Memories that people try to hold onto. Memories that people want to post above their bedroom walls with fairy lights highlighting people you love and places you've been. The river had the same effect on Beverly. For her, the running water brought up images of her mom.</p><p>It was...<em>hard </em>to think of her when she barely knew her. The only poignant memory of her was from her dad, when he told her that she died from childbirth. The only thing she left behind for her daughter was her key pendant that Beverly <em>always </em>wore around her neck. Her dad insisted that she where it to show what her mother gave up. The problem? Well, Beverly didn't know whether it was because her dad missed her mom <em>or </em>if it was another perverted fantasy of his to fantasize about his wife while looking at Beverly wearing his late wife's necklace. Beverly held the key in her hand, a simple brass key. She wondered sometimes if she could just stick the key in any door and leave Derry, creating a portal to a realm where kids didn't disappear, where mothers didn't die, and where fathers didn't lust after you. Funny. She held the key, but Beverly felt like she would never get any answers. No Happy Ever After for the Marsh house.</p><p>The sound of bike tires spinning caused Beverly to stub out her cigarette against the wall. She raced down the stairs, passing Amelia, the little girl who always sat a few flights below her. Amelia waved and Beverly waved back. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she found Bill already waiting.</p><p>"Hey, Bev," Bill said, smiling. He pulled against the fabric of his long sleeved shirt with green sleeves, airing it out. "S-s-sorry, it's hot out here."</p><p>"Really? Hmm. I couldn't tell. Are you...<em>sweating</em>?"</p><p>He looked down at his armpits, where sure enough sweat stains were prominently seen. "What did y-y-you expect, it's hot as D-D-Dante's Inferno."</p><p>"I know. But it's <em>still </em>gross." She winked, grabbing her bike from under the stairs. "You heard about the news. Right?"</p><p>Bill pulled up his tube sock, not meeting her eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly. "E-Emily Tallis. You think it was <em>him</em>."</p><p>"I wouldn't put it past me." Beverly started pumping. her legs up and down, joining Bill at his side. "It's scare really. How he could just...take someone so swiftly, without a trace. It's insane. How do you think he manages to do that? Just appear out of nowhere so quickly like he's not <em>real</em>?"</p><p>"Yeah. Yeah, that's how he g-g-got....how he..."</p><p>Beverly wanted to slap herself, rip her tongue out of her mouth for saying that. She remembered that Georgie was taken from his earlier this summer. All while Bill was sick. She wouldn't know what to do if she lost her sibling, if she had any. She'd probably cut the rest of her hair, maybe smash her keyboard that she kept in her room. And here Bill was, still together, still breathing, still composed about his little baby brother's death.</p><p>"Yeah," Beverly said, rubbing Bill's arm. "I'm sorry."</p><p>He shrugged, gripping the handlebars of his bike tighter. "It's okay."</p><p>"I told you I'm not good with questions."</p><p>"Hey, like I s-s-said yesterday, stupid questions are c-c-common. It's our specialty."</p><p>"Like sweating uncontrollably?" She smiled.</p><p>"Exactly." Bill looked at his watch. "Ready?"</p><p>Beverly extended her arm forward. "Lead the way."</p><p>They pedaled through Derry, passing by homes with attached iron staircases, riding under exposed telephone wires that hung closer to the ground than necessary. Ford Mustangs and Chevy Camaros passed by them, ruffling Beverly's hair. She was glad that she decided to cut it, ditching the ponytail. It would only make her neck itch and would probably get caught in the wind of the cars whizzing by them.</p><p>They stopped at a red light. Beverly shielded her eyes and looked over at Bill. "So. Any new drawings?"</p><p>Bill shielded his eyes too, blinking rapidly in the sun's power. "No. Nothing new yet. But I'm t-t-thinking about a new one t-t-that I'm picturing."</p><p>"Yeah? What about?"</p><p>The car behind them honked their horn. The light had turned green. Beverly wanted to flip whoever it was the middle finger, but decided against it. They pedaled forward.</p><p>"You know <em>The R-Real Ghostbusters</em>? The T.V. show?"</p><p>"Oh. Um. Yeah, I <em>heard </em>of it." Actually, Beverly didn't really watch cartoons on a daily basis. Not that she didn't find them entertaining. It's just that compared to the boys, her interest level was at ground zero while the boys' was as high as the Tower of Babel. Also, the only T.V. in their home was in the living room where her father mostly slept. Yeah. Not worth the trip to see <em>Scooby Doo </em>unmask another villain. "Which character are you drawing?"</p><p>"Janine Melnitz. She's the s-secretary of the team." He turned a corner, Beverly riding close to him. "I guess I always l-liked her character. She really came though for her teammates when needed and managed to hold down the fort in the o-o-office." Bill pushed aside his reddish brown hair. His cheeks turned Scarlett and it could've been mistaken for sunburn if he didn't rattle off the next few words in a quick succession. "She kind of...well....r-reminds me of you."</p><p>Beverly felt her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She fought the urge to place a hand over her heart. She rarely got any compliments like that, compliments that didn't involve her looks or her alleged promiscuity. She was credited for being a team player among a group of boys, a level headed individual even though she always felt like she was falling down a spiral staircase composed of concrete on the inside. "Thanks, Bill," she said. "That...um, means a lot."</p><p>"I-It's the truth."</p><p>"Wait, wait, <em>wait</em>. So after your drawing blows up over Derry and the rest of the world, we're splitting the profits, right?" </p><p>Bill scrunched up his face, in mock deep thinking. "Hmm. Don't know. I could use a new bike."</p><p>Beverly laughed, eyeing <em>Silver</em>. "You wouldn't trade the bike in for all the gold in the world."</p><p>"That's true. <em>Silver's </em>helped me outrun the Devil multiple times." He rubbed the body of the bike. It let out a metallic groan in response. "Reliable as ever."</p><p>"Yeah, sure. Reliable as Richie for doing his part in group projects."</p><p>"T-T-hat's a low blow."</p><p>"Low, but necessary."</p><p>They were near the square, maybe a mile or so to go. Before they arrived, Bill rode closer to Beverly. "Hey, Bev?"</p><p>"Yeah?" Beverly noticed the fleeting quality in his voice, as if he was moving away farther and farther. "What' wrong?"</p><p>Bill squeezed the handlebars of his bike, then released them again. He took in a deep breath and held it, looking like he was fighting a demon inside of him. "It's just...well...do you think w-w-we could stop by the c-c-c-cemetery before we meet up? I want to visit...his grave before we go over what h-h-happened to Emily."</p><p>If there was ever a moment to get swallowed up in the Earth's crust, if there was ever a moment for an alien from Area 51 to hypnotize her with some device so that she could forget that he asked her that, now would be the time. It wasn't that Beverly didn't care about Bill and his ritual of visiting the cemetery for his little brother. She had <em>no </em>problem with that. What she <em>did </em>have a problem with was visiting a cemetery where her mother was buried. She rarely went there and tried to steer clear most of the time. Earlier, this summer, when the boys were helping her clan her bathroom from all the blood, Bill asked her if she'd ever been to the cemetery. She laughed nervously, partly because of the look Bill was giving her and party because it reminded her of where her mother stood in the world: buried under rocks and worms and pebbles.</p><p>And here Bill was asking if they could stop by the Derry cemetery. She wanted to say <em>no</em>, but for Bill? For him, she would make a sacrifice. </p><p>"Yeah," Beverly said after he started to look forlorn. "No problem."</p><p>"Thanks. It'll only b-b-be a second."</p><p>"Hey. No rush."</p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>She cleared her throat, suddenly parched. "Definitely."</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>1:45 PM</strong>
</p><p>The cemetery for Derry wasn't scary in any way, shape, or form. At least not in <em>daylight</em>. Once you passed the black iron gates and walked on the weaving paths that surrounded tombstones and St. Mary statues in different shades of granite and sedimentary rock, you kind of forgot about Derry. It was a nice change of pace, a nice getaway from the small town. The only people that roamed these cemeteries were homeless men, people visiting deceased loved ones, and people who just wanted to be closer to the dead, as if they could feel what it felt like to be buried through osmosis or some other telepathy.</p><p>Beverly and Bill walked in silence, passing by tombstones that mostly were composed of <em>children</em>. <em>Briony Wallace. Micah Westfield. Junie Soo. </em>So many kids. Derry really <em>was </em>a hub for missing children <em>and </em>missing posters.</p><p>"There he is," Bill said, quietly. They came upon a gray tombstone decorated with yellow Lillie. <em>George Elmer Denbrough. Beloved Son and Brother. </em></p><p>Beverly stayed back as Bill trudged silently forward to the grave. She felt indecent in her peppermint t shirt and overall shorts, feeling that she should be wearing a black dress and flats. Oh well. It's not like the dead pay attention to what you're wearing.</p><p>Bill knelt in front of the grave and rested his forehead on the tombstone. He was whispering something, barely audible over the rustling of the sycamore leaves above them. It was a secret language that was probably meant for brothers and brothers <em>only</em>.</p><p>Feeling like she was intruding, Beverly looked off around her. One of these tombstones was her mother's. Her memory fizzled like a dying ember as she tried to remember which headstone was her mother's. Was it the one shaped like a heart? Was it the one cracking, threatening to crumble? Was it the one that was built of black marble, its ebony color swinging like black chrome under the sun? All she had to do was <em>look</em>, but she didn't have it in her. Also, she never really shared much about her mother, not even to the other Losers. Yeah. It was <em>that </em>big of a deal. She trusted these boys with her <em>life</em>, but there were some secrets that she wanted to stay hidden, tucked away in her heart and locked with a key. She cupped the key in her palm tightly, until its teeth formed a groove.</p><p>"O-okay. I'm done." Bill materialized in front of her, his eyes red, but hs voice calm. "Let's get going."</p><p>"You okay?" She asked.</p><p>He sort of laughed cried, thrown in with a sigh. "No. But talking about it's only gonna m-make it worse for me."</p><p>Beverly wanted to tell him that it was okay to talk about the dead ones that passed, but wouldn't that be calling the kettle black. She nodded and together they left the cemetery. On Georgie's grave, the yellow Lillies wilted faster, as if their lives was nothing more than a pretty face and nothing more.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>2:16 PM</strong>
</p><p>"Fuck you man!"</p><p>"What? Look at the facts, Eddie."</p><p>"My mom is not the offspring of Jabba The Hutt, dipshit. And get your crusty feet off my lap."</p><p>Beverly looked up from her ice-cream cone. "Richie. Leave Eddie alone please and please remove said crusty feet."</p><p>"Thank you Beverly." Eddie licked his ice-cream, plain vanilla. </p><p>"I cannot in good conscience do that, Red." Richie took a wrap around lick of his cone, wiggling his toes which were on Eddie's lap. "It's all love."</p><p>Eddie huffed, grossed out by Richie's feet and his claim. "Yeah, calling my mom fat is like receiving <em>chocolates</em> and <em>roses</em>."</p><p>"Could we maybe get back on track, please?" Stanley asked. "Because this conversation <em>completely</em> derailed."</p><p>"We have to w-w-wait for Mike. We can't s-start without him," Bill said. "Anyone know where he is?"</p><p>Ben carefully licked his ice-cream, trying not to let the dripping get on his <em>Sunset Drive </em>t shirt with a falling sun. "He said he was coming after he was done delivering meat." He craned his neck to look around. "But...<em>that </em>was an hour ago."</p><p>"Maybe he got held up?" Beverly asked.</p><p>"M-maybe." Bill checked his watch. "Think he r-r-ran into trouble?"</p><p>Richie took off his glasses and examined them. "Do we believe that Mike Hanlon, the <em>only</em> black kid in Derry, ran into trouble in a town where Henry Bowers roams the streets? Yeah, could be a possibility."</p><p>"Don't say that, man," Stanley said, rubbing his knees. "What if he really <em>is </em>in trouble?"</p><p>"Bowers nearly <em>killed </em>him last time," Eddie said, frantically. His words followed one after another, leaving no space in between. "What if Mike's in trouble? What if he's cornered somewhere like a rat? What if he's bleeding to death or floating facedown in the river? What if he's..."</p><p>"Eddie," Beverly interrupted. "Yeah. Not really comforting when you say that."</p><p>"Oh...yeah. right. Sorry."</p><p>Bill stood up from the bench. "Half of us w-will go and find him. Half of us will stay here and t-t-talk about what happened to Emily. Who wants to go?"</p><p>"I'll go," Beverly stood and joined his side. She surveyed the remaining boys. "Anyone else?"</p><p>"Yeah. Count me in." Ben stood, throwing away his ice-cream in the nearby trash can. "The more eyes, the better."</p><p>"Stanley? R-Richie? Eddie?" Bill asked.</p><p>Richie shook his head no, his mouth full of ice-cream. "You guys got this. We'll stay here and hold down the fort."</p><p>"And by hold down the fort," Eddie said, leaning over to block Richie's face, "he means will be sitting here <em>not </em>running into Bowers.</p><p>Stanley nodded his head solemnly. "Good luck you three."</p><p>The search party left the convivial square to search for Mike. Beverly couldn't help but roll her eyes when the three boys holding down the fort were talking about Richie's odious feet. "Think it's wise to leave <em>them </em>by themselves?" She asked, looking over her shoulder.</p><p>Ben laughed. "I think they'll be fine."</p><p>"Yeah." Bill crossed his arms over his chest. "I t-t-trust those boys. C'mon, let's go f-find Mike."</p><p>There would only be a handful of places he could possible be. If he was delivering meat, it was possible he was at the butcher shop, so they'd start there.</p><p>The three of them walked, opting to leave their bikes behind since the butcher shop was within walking distance. Beverly was sandwiched in the middle with Bill and Ben at her sides. They passed by the tailor shop, a comic book store, and the pharmacy. The butcher shop came into view finally, the smell of raw sausage and chicken making Beverly's stomach quiver...in a bad way.</p><p>Inside the shop, the three of them went to the counter where Mr. Wallace was arranging fresh meat. "Can I help you kids?"</p><p>"Yes," Beverly said, stepping forward. We're looking for Mike Hanlon?"</p><p>"He-h-he works with you, right?" Bill asked.</p><p>Mr. Wallace rubbed his hands on his blood stained apron, smiling fondly. "Mikey? Yeah, he just left maybe an hour or so ago. Headed down the alley."</p><p>"Thank you, sir," Ben said.</p><p>"Good kid that one is. Hard worker. Not a lot of kids like that."</p><p>The three left the building and went down the alley behind the shop. The feeling of suffocation was greater when in the alley. They passed by discarded trash bags, the smell pungent and strong, making the three bury their noses in their shirts. "Ugh. Gross," Beverly said.</p><p>"You said it," Ben said, his voice muffled. "If it sits out here any longer, it'll probably mutate."</p><p>She laughed. "Think it'll sprout legs and an egg sack?"</p><p>"People with Arachnophobia would be begging on their knees. Right Bill?"</p><p>Bill halted, raising his hand slowly. "Shh. Quiet. Listen."</p><p>There where a group of voices, venomous and echoing in the distance. A group of voices they were <em>too </em>familiar with. "C'mon," Bill said.</p><p>Beverly followed close behind him, Ben right behind her. From their corner, they peaked around to see Henry Bowers and his gang in an alcove. Standing with his back to the wall, shivering, his Adam's apple going up and down like the red in a thermometer, Mike had his eyes closed. Upon further inspection, it was because Henry Bowers was right in his face, the blade of his pocket knife just at the base of his throat. Belch was right next to him, laughing and hooting as if they just scored fair game.</p><p><em>This</em> was the Henry Beverly knew. <em>This </em>was the Henry that made her skin crawl, made her eyes roll until they left their sockets. Whatever frightened child she saw yesterday was gone. It was replaced by a thug, relentless and ignorant that left a bad taste in your mouth like fungi infested meat.</p><p>Beverly stepped forward, the first one to speak. "Bowers! Let him go!"</p><p>The mullet haired young man turned albeit slowly. A slow wicked smile formed on his lips. "Look who's here, Mike." Mike only opened his eyes wider with fear when the blade seemed to press deeper into the base. Henry kept his eyes on Beverly while talking to Mike. "It's your loser friends here to rescue you."</p><p>Bill stepped forward. "L-let him go, Bowers. He d-d-didn't do anything to you."</p><p>Belch stomped in his boots. He pushed Bill backward, causing the stuttering thirteen year old to land land on his back with a groan. "Nunya, <em>Dick</em>borough." He burped in Bill's face. </p><p>Ben quickly rushed to Bill's side, helping him up. </p><p>Belch swaggered over to Beverly, his face as scrunched up as an anus in a corkscrew. "Molly Ringwald. Why don't you and your friends hit the road before..."</p><p>Beverly's knee was in the air and crashing into his junk before she even realized what she was doing. Belch fell to his knees, grabbing his crotch, letting out a moan that could've been a siren's song. She moved past him and strode up to Henry, yanking him by the shoulder. "Get off of him, jerk off!"</p><p>Henry, with his free hand, pushed her back. For a lanky ectomorph, there was <em>no</em> denying his power. "Fuck off, bitch."</p><p>Down, but not out, Beverly stood again. She bum rushed Henry, causing him to drop the knife as well as his hold on Mike. She grabbed his black collared shirt by the hem and lifted it until it was over his head, completely obscuring his view. Her hold on his shirt was like riding a bull on PCP. Belch was still on the ground, rolling around like a sausage link, holding his family jewels.</p><p>"Guys!" Beverly shouted. "The trash bags!"</p><p>Mike, Bill, and Ben grabbed the trash bags that were on the ground and whirled them on Henry. Suspicious colored liquid and fat from spoiled meat leaked when they swung the bags on Henry, causing him to stumble and slip and land on Belch's stomach. The effect was...nose squinching. The smell was like <em>no </em>other. It was as if spoiled milk and rotten eggs mutated together to form some new kind of stink. Some of the contents leaked onto the Losers, but it was minor compared to what Henry was being doused with.</p><p>When Henry and belch were subdued, the Losers dropped the trash bags.</p><p>"Thanks," Mike said, hands on his knees, breathing in ands out in shuddering breaths. "Thanks, Beverly."</p><p>Beverly rubbed Mike's back. Her arm was a little sore from her wild ride with Henry. In fact, <em>everything </em>was a little sore. "No problem. You okay?"</p><p>"It's nothing new." Mike limped to his toppled bike next to the back entrance of the butcher shop. "But thanks you guys. Really. I...thanks."</p><p>"Bill?" Beverly asked, rubbing his arm. "You okay?"</p><p>He rubbed the back of his head. When he examined his fingers, small streaks of blood were apparent. "I'm f-fine."</p><p>"You're bleeding," Ben said worriedly.</p><p>"Man," Mike said, breathless.</p><p>"I-I-It's fine. It's nothing." He continued to rub his head in a slow manner. "Let's just g-get back to the others."</p><p>"Not until you're okay," Mike said.</p><p>"Eddie might have something in one of those fanny packs," Beverly said. "He's a walking hospital."</p><p>Mike laughed, his smile erasing the fear that made him shiver. "Truer words have never been said."</p><p>The Losers gave one last lingering look at Henry and Belch on the ground. Henry moved around slowly, as if he was struggling to wake up from a too long nap just after five o clock. What was Beverly thinking? How could she actually believe that there was some...some <em>good </em>in Henry? Well, she wouldn't make that mistake again. If she had second guessed his anger for fragility, it probably would've gotten her and her friends hurt or even worse. No. She wouldn't do that again. Absolutely not.</p><p>The Losers walked away. Mike rode his bike, careful not to disturb Bill too much who was sitting just behind him, leaning his head against Mike's back. Ben and Beverly followed behind them.</p><p>"You're a hero," Ben said. It took a moment for Beverly to register that he was talking to her. "You know that, right?"</p><p>She laughed warily. She trailed her hand up her forehead and onto her head, letting out a breath that resembled the sound of steam escaping from an iron. "I don't know about that."</p><p>"You are. Mike would probably be...if you hadn't did what you did."</p><p>She only nodded. She wanted to praise herself for stepping up and saving Mike. She truly wanted to praise the boys for helping her take down Henry. I guess she was a hero. She didn't wear tights or a mask or threw criminals in jail, but she was one. Still, looking back into the alley and seeing Henry on the ground, barely moving along with Belch, the definition off a hero became blurry lines in the grand scheme of things.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>5:22 PM</strong>
</p><p>The smell was <em>horrific</em>. And the measly garden hose on the side of Henry's house did nothing to rid him and Belch of the stench. Yeah, they wet themselves <em>over</em> and <em>over</em> again, but the smell still clung to their clothing, still permeated the air around them that even the flies seemed to have a hard time whether to bask in the stickiness or fly towards he nearest flower bed.</p><p>"Stuff stinks, man," Belch said, rubbing his hands up and down his face. "You done with the hose? I need another rinse."</p><p>"Hold on," Henry said, sternly. He hosed himself off, letting the water run over his face and down his bare torso. He even used the <em>Shield </em>soap he'd taken from the bathroom to try to mask the scent with Irish Clover fields. He was <em>not </em>happy, no that he'd ever truly been. It was bad enough that he let Beverly, a <em>girl</em>, get the drop on him, but the fact that he was taken out by stinky, smelly, unfiltered garbage? Yeah, that...<em>whoo</em>, that did <em>not </em>sit right with him. It sat a forty five degree angle that pinched his stomach and made his ears ring. </p><p>After he scrubbed himself, he tossed the hose to Belch. "They're gonna pay. Watch."</p><p>"Can't believe that red headed dyke kneed me in the balls." Belch rubbed the front of his pants softly, as if the testes inside of them were slowly coming back to their rightful shape. "Man, that's sore."</p><p>"Good." Henry shook his har similarly to a dog's. "It'll keep you alert the next time." He hadn't <em>meant </em>to make the words sound as mean. He was hoping to go for his usual monotone playfulness, but there was anger behind his words. He still thought back to earlier his morning when he told Belch discreetly about his dad and how he's a hard hitter. Even when he brought up the woman on the phone, Belch laughed it off. Henry hoped that his friend would dive deeper into the cracks like a mountain climber, but instead he jumped over them like a mountain goat. What's the point of having friends if they don't realize that your whole world is a slow moving wasteland?</p><p>Belch fell silent. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his thumbs grazing his belt buckle. "Did I do something?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>"You sound pissed at me."</p><p>"I'm not. Drop it." Henry eyed Belch and bit the inside of his cheek. "Drop it."</p><p>Nothing else was discussed. They hosed themselves off in silence, the stink seeming to grow stronger with each rinse.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>9:00 PM</strong>
</p><p>"You're sure you're okay?" Beverly whispered into the phone.</p><p>"<em>I'll be fine</em>," Mike said, his voice tinny though the speaker. "<em>Nothing I can't handle</em>. <em>Nice moves by the way</em>."</p><p>"Thanks." Beverly looked into the living room. Her father was asleep, the covers tucked just below his chin. Wow. From here, he almost looked harmless. "It was no big deal."</p><p>"<em>Yes it was</em>. <em>You're literally the only person in the world I know who'd use trash bags filled with rotting meat and other garbage as weapons.</em>"</p><p>Beverly felt like she was floating, her confidence almost breaking the glass ceiling of her being. ""Thanks Mike." She wondered if now would be the time to ask him about what he thought of Henry. It's no brainer that they don't get along, but still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there <em>had </em>to be someone who thought differently of him. Ok. Wow. There she went again. Caring about Henry in a not direct, but off to the side way. </p><p>No. Mike <em>could've </em>died today. If the were a second too late, there's no telling what Henry might've done to him. She withheld her question. "Hey. I have to turn in. Tomorrow? We're waiting by the butcher shop for you. We'll be your personal escort."</p><p>He laughed through the phone. "I'd appreciate that, Bev. Very much. See you tomorrow?"</p><p>"You bet." She hung the phone back on the wall and tiptoed silently to her bedroom.</p><p>Beverly took in her room, glad for its solace, its quiet, except for the radiator clanging away just under her window. She changed out of her street clothes into a pink flannel pajama top with bottoms to match. Sleep didn't come to her yet. It was Saturday night and she felt that she should so <em>something </em>to spice up her night. After all, she saved Mike from becoming filet fish.</p><p>The moon ascended ever so slowly. It leaked its milky luminescence into her bedroom, sieving through the blinds and falling on her retro piano. The keys sparkled like the stars themselves, pulsating and undulating, waiting for someone to press the keys to accompany whatever song the person had in his or her mind.</p><p>Beverly sat down on the bench, took a last look at the door, for fear of waking up her dad. It wasn't <em>that </em>loud of an instrument, but the last thing she wanted was for him to walk in and see her playing he piano, oblivious to the world around her as she dove deeper into the abyss of music. She would feel like a fish snatched out of water and thrown violently back in if he came in.</p><p>She pressed the F key. It let out a sound that reminded Beverly of an overcast evening, then the D key that felt like she was watching the sunrise. Did her mother like sunrises? What about the evenings, how did she feel about those? Was she a comely person? Did she enjoy <em>The Frog Prince </em>as much as her daughter did. If only she could ask God or Zeus or whoever was the ruler of the universe to give her back her mother. But the universe doesn't grant everyone's wishes. The world spins, unaware of the innocuous people inhabiting it who are plagued by curses and judgement that made people shrink into themselves. Her heart was a melancholy song that needed no saving and no cheering up, a song that's played at midnight, specifically tailor made just for you.</p><p>She continued to press the keys in no particular order, letting out an incoherent melody that matched her own heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! Like and share to spread the story!!!❤️ The Losers are my favorite squad!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Give Your Mother A Hug, Beverly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not a lot happens really. Just a creepy graveyard at night when Beverly visits her deceased mother. And a normal day at school for Henry Bowers.. Yeah. Not a whole lot. But you never know.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all! Here's another chapter! I hope you're enjoying the story! I'm excited to dive into Henry's character and I know he seems like an ass...well, he is, but just wait. There's more to come from him and Beverly. If I don't update as often, it's because I'm doing other writing projects as well as reading. So bare with me!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>August 17, 1988</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>1:23 AM</strong>
</p><p>Whoah. This was...Ok, wait, <em>this </em>was something else entirely. It's not supposed to be this hard, this soul dragging. It could've been the effect of waking up in the middle of the night. Maybe the sleep in her eyes caused her to hallucinate slightly, caused her to make the headstones and the decrepit St. Mary statues more <em>morbid </em>and <em>primordial</em>. No. It definitely wasn't the lack of sleep. What it was, the railroad spike that was wedged in her back that made her sneak out and bicycle to the graveyard, was the fact that Beverly didn't remember paying her respects to her mother. She didn't even remember if she cried. Well, she <em>was </em>just a baby so naturally she should've cried, but still she didn't feel like she really expressed her grief, her sadness. </p><p>It's easy to express an emotion you always knew you had, but harder to do so in front of the dead. It's not as if they can <em>hear </em>you and Beverly was certain they weren't riding along big puffy clouds in the sky or cooking in cauldrons underneath with their ears pressed to the world of the living. To be honest, she didn't even know if she felt <em>any</em> kind of apprehension. It was creepy enough the gate before her let out a rustic squeak whenever the night wind eased it open, only for the hinges to squeak like a oxidized wheel. And yeah, okay, the limbs of the branches of the sycamore trees had the appearance of hands, bony, frail, blowing in the wind as if they were trying to scrape the ground and pick up the lost people who roamed the dead man's land. Beverly held her flashlight tightly in one hand, the beam steady on the iron gate. She wondered if it was too late to pedal back home and drift off to dreamland. Or maybe she could find the nearest payphone and call Bill or Ben or the other Losers to accompany her. Only. That's right. They didn't know about her mother because she didn't tell them about her.</p><p>And she planned to keep it that way.</p><p>Alright, she didn't sneak out and pedal all this way for nothing. It was time to put on her brave face and big girl panties. Swallowing the mucus that had accumulated at the back of her throat, Beverly walked slowly toward the gate. When she pushed it open, the hinges let out a defining squeak, as if it were a goat dying of famine or the sound of air escaping from a rubber duck. She held onto one of the bars with her free hand after she was inside. When she released it, the gate slowly eased shut behind her. It wasn't a <em>loud </em>click, but Beverly spun at the sound, as if it was locked in place. She checked to make sure it wasn't locked. She tugged at the gate, relieved that it wasn't secured. It's not like the cemetery had automatic doors like the latest shopping mall, but the last thing Beverly wanted to do was spend the night with a bunch of rotting away dead people, <em>none</em> of which she knew.</p><p>The circle of light from her Mag-lite flashlight lighted her way. She aimed it over the headstones. They remained stagnant, only their shadows flitting from right to left as the hazy beam of light flashed over them. At times, she wanted to cover the head of the flashlight with her hand, for fear that she was going to wake up the tenants of the graveyard. She pointed it toward the sky overhead, which was as black as the hearts and lungs that the dead possessed here. Her footsteps echoed on the asphalt and she wondered if she should remove her shoes to stop the sound. The click, clack of her shoes seemed to match the rhythm of her heart. The beat reminded her of a metronome, with each step she took she was one step closer to a place like this, one step closer to ending up like her mother. "Mother knows best," Beverly said to herself. She immediately shook her head, disgusted at her own macabre words and continued forward.</p><p>It really was hard to try to find her mother's grave. It wasn't as if the funeral had a directory for the people here. She walked over flat headstones, around ones that stuck out of the ground like gothic windows. The earthy smell of the soil and the blades of grass tingling her shins made her feel apart of the family. She wouldn't be surprised if a <em>Welcome Home Sign </em>was bannered over the mausoleum in blood and dirt.</p><p>Ok. Reverse it and put it in park. No need to think like <em>that</em>.</p><p>Beverly found an inclination of the ground and began to tread upwards. It was manageable, not too steep. Still, the uphill climb didn't ease her nerves. As she ascended, the tombstones below her became a sea, an infinite ocean that stretched until it bled into the unlighted parts of the cemetery. What she would kill for the moon to shine through the darkened sky. It could be a quarter moon, a half moon, a full moon-anything brighter than her flickering flashlight. At least there wasn't a mist hovering over her ankles. Beverly could already hear Richie's voice. <em>All we need is an orgy and this party would be alive</em>. </p><p>When she reached the summit, she began to wonder if she would ever find it. Hell, maybe she wasn't even buried here. She scanned the tombstones, only three up here. The names engraved in the tombstones were crumbling, but still readable. <em>Miles Witticker. Jessica Lee....</em></p><p>Beverly stopped her flashlight on the one in the middle. She nearly dropped it at the site. It was a faded pink headstone. Blossoms were chiseled around her name, the stems holding up the petals that weaved in and out of the name that was plastered on there. She found it, yet she wanted to turn away and run when she saw the name. <em>Elfrida </em><em>Marsh</em>.</p><p>For a moment, she just stood there, her legs becoming as unmoving as the thousands of headstones, as hard as the marble Virgin Mary statues surrounding the place. In <em>theory</em>, it seemed like a good idea. See her mother, pay her respects, and leave for home. Simple. Direct. No hesitation. Now, in <em>reality</em>, seeing the only woman in the world she admired, or <em>would've </em>admired, buried underground, she couldn't just give her a proper sending off, couldn't just say a few words then leave when she had more on her mind to say.</p><p>No. She wanted to do more. Humility is more lenient when you're surrounded by the dead. </p><p>The twigs and dead leaves crunched under her feet like potato chips. She knelt down on her mother's grave and rested her forehead at the top of the headstone. Her lips were barely brushing her mother's name and she closed her eyes, hoping to hear <em>something</em>, visualize <em>something </em>that could make her believe in an afterlife or another parallel universe where fear was eradicated, where sickness was dispelled, and where love was a sword emblazoned by fire, keeping your enemies at bay. All she heard in her ears were the cicadas, the wind, and the faint sound of the iron gate surrounding the cemetery creaking and groaning due to old age.</p><p>"Hey, Mom." Her throat felt parched. She wished it was raining so she could lift her face to the sky. Maybe it would mask her tears and parch her thirst at the same time. "It's me, Beverly." She started to feel stupid, talking to the dead. If someone was spying on her, they probably thought she was one of the homeless wandering about. She pressed on. "I, um, haven't...haven't seen you in awhile. So, I just...yeah, just wanted to see how things were."</p><p>No response, not that she expected one. "I'm in eighth grade this year," she continued. "Made some new friends. They're great. No, sorry, they're <em>amazing</em>. They're like no one else in the world. Eddie and Richie make me laugh, you would love them. Mike's hardworking and I <em>know </em>that you'd accept him, whether...whether he was white or Chinese or whatever. Stanley's adorable. Ben's really intelligent." Beverly smiled and bit her lip. "And um, there's Bill. He's...He's great. A really good friend."</p><p>Was this normal? Talking to the dead as if you were sitting in your favorite cafe catching up with them? It probably wasn't. Then she remembered yesterday, when Bill knelt beside his brother's grave and whispered something and immediately felt guilty. It's just that...well, why talk to the dead when you can talk to those <em>currently </em>living? Besides her friends, the living sucked major eggs. The adults here seemed to ignore the kids, brandished them as weird and abnormal if they didn't conform to the "standard" Derry had. Then again, with the company she hung out with, plus the company she despised once she got home, weirdness was more than a trait. It was a brand that was seared into her like a monogram and it would forever be imprinted on her person.</p><p>If weird meant to be free with her friends then she would polish it and wear it proudly like a merit badge.</p><p>Beverly talked about nothing in particular. She talked about the weather tonight, humid and dark. She talked about crappy teachers, her progress on playing the piano. The words tumbled out of her and quite frankly, she didn't care if she was listening, didn't even care if some loner walked around and saw her talking to a tombstone.</p><p>Go ahead and look. This is what humility is and it's gratifying as warm sand between your toes.</p><p>When she ran out of words to say, the feeling of melancholy wove between her veins again. She remembered that her mother was dead, forever gone because she was born. If she could dig her up with her bear hands and zap her to life with a defibrillator and restore color and joy to her, she would. But she wasn't <em>that </em>crazy.</p><p>"Mom," she said, her voice choking up. She blinked back tears and wiped her eyes, even though she was the only one there. "I...I wish I got the chance to know you. I miss you. I wish you were here with me then maybe dad, he wouldn't..." Beverly closed her eyes and her salty warm tears gathered between her eyelids. They had the consistency of damp towels. "Maybe dad wouldn't be the way he is now. And, I, um...if we...if we could trade places, I...I would. I mean it."</p><p>She cried silently, more so at her own words. Had she always felt this way? To take her mother's place in the ground? If she thought like that <em>all </em>the time, she would've done so by doing something selfish and cruel, but she didn't have it in her to do it. It wasn't there.</p><p>Rather... well, actually, it <em>was </em>there on her periphery, a passing stranger that waved to you constantly but you didn't want to acknowledge. It was so insignificant, so small, a mere pipe dream that she quickly forgot about.</p><p>Still, she wondered.</p><p>Could she...</p><p>Actually...</p><p>What would her friends think if she...</p><p>Could they forgive her for...</p><p>Ok, Nope. Time to head home. That was enough for tonight and she certainly didn't want to feel groggy when she went to school in the next few hours or so.</p><p>Beverly stood and dusted off her knees. She turned to head back down the hill, but stopped in her tracks when she heard a whisper coming from behind. It sounded like a quiet, rushed <em>Hey!</em>, the kind said when you want to share a most discerning secret. It's as if the <em>e</em> was dropped, leaving behind the <em>H </em>and <em>Y </em>letters. Was it a creeper or a gravedigger? Beverly thought it was Henry Bowers, but even bullies need their sleep too. Plus, he was less discreet abut his actions. She definitely would've heard his boots stomping on the dirt like an elephant if it was him. She braved a chance to look, only to find that no one was there.</p><p>Hmm. Maybe the late hours were getting to her.</p><p>Before she turned back around to go down the hill, the whisper came again. "<em>Hey! Hey! Beverly!</em>"</p><p>Beverly's heart beat erratically, threatening to lodge itself out of her ribcage and onto the space between her feet. She shone the flashlight to where she thought she heard the noise, right on her mother's grave. Beverly's shivering hand made the ring of light quake like an earthqauke. Who said that? She didn't <em>see </em>anyone. Of course, other than her flashlight, the place was as dark as a blackhole. "Hello?"</p><p>"<em>Beverly! Hey! Come here, honey! Mommy needs to tell you something</em>.<em>" </em> </p><p>In her mind, Beverly told herself to run, to hightail it to the gate and ride as fast as the devil until she reached home. Fear mixed with curiosity was never a good combination. Curiosity killed the cat was the expression, but who knows what the cat's intentions were. If Beverly ran now, she would never know. Plus, if she ran, she felt as if it would only make it worse.</p><p>Beverly stopped at the foot of the grave. She noticed that the space in front of the headstone moved. It's as if something was burrowing under the wilted grass. It made movements like a snake, slithering around, making the grass and dirt above undulate like waves. "He-Hello? Mom?"</p><p><em>"Darling. It's so nice of  us to</em> chat." The voice was pleasant, sweet as honeysuckle over caramel apples. <em>Too </em>sweet.  "Sometimes<em> I can't help but think what I would do if you were with me</em>."</p><p>The pull was strong. Beverly felt her mind being ensnared in an iron maden. She felt like her limbs were controlled by strings, a marionette under the influence of the jester. She couldn't fight it with all the willpower she had. "What do you think?" She asked at the grave. She knelt at the foot of where the ground was squirming. </p><p><em>"What I think? I think you turned out to be exactly what you're meant to be</em>."</p><p>"What's that?"</p><p>The sudden shift in the disembodied voice caused Beverly to gasp. <em>"Like a red headed whore screwing around</em><em> Babylon</em>."</p><p>It happened before she stood up. The ground broke free near her wrists. Moist, black vines erupted from the broken spaces and circled her wrists. More and more, circling until it felt like barbed wire.</p><p>She screamed and tried to pull away, but the vines pulled her closer to the Earth.  An extra set of black threads cuffed her neck and dragged her closer to the ground until she was nearly facedown in the dirt.  "Let me go!" She screamed. "Help!"</p><p>The ground began to open. Whatever was burrowing underneath was making its way to the surface. Beverly screamed until her voice cracked, tried to kick her legs but they were useless since there was nothing to kick behind her.</p><p>First came the nose, sharp like a dorsal fin.</p><p>Then the eyes, milky white and foggy. </p><p>Her face was colorless, close to skeletal. Her teeth were black, rotting away, threatening to fall back into her throat.</p><p>"<em>Beverly</em>. <em>Mommy's sorry. Come give mommy a hug and we'll make up</em>."</p><p>"NO!!!" Beverly pushed against the ground, away from the specter's face. She rolled on her side, trying to escape the grasp of the vines (upon closer inspection they were heavily modified <em>veins</em>, which explained the blood that poured over her wrists). She twisted her body, kicked, shook her hands until finally the vines gave away.</p><p>Beverly ran down the hill and tripped, causing her to roll on her side. When she landed on her face, she stood back up on wobbly legs, forgetting the flashlight and made a beeline for the gate.</p><p>As she ran, she saw them. All of them. The occupants of the graveyard were standing over their own graves in tattered clothing and broken limbs and hollowed out faces. Even the kids. Boys in jumpers, girls in shredded dresses. They stared at her, turned their heads slowly in unison as she ran toward the entrance. "<em>Join us, </em><em>Beverly</em>. <em>Mommy's waiting for you. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting." Waiting." </em></p><p>
  <em>"Waiting." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Waiting."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Waiting." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Waiting." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Waiting."</em>
</p><p>Beverly made it to the entrance, crashing into the gate only to find it was locked.</p><p>"No!" She screamed. She pulled on the bars like a sleep deprived inmate, pulling and pounding on them, hoping someone would hear her. "Hello?! Help, please!"</p><p>The voices behind her increased in volume. It was as if she was placed in the center of a football stadium and the audience around her was shouting. She turned to see them coming toward her. A whole Walking Dead convention right there.</p><p>"Get back!" She shouted. She pressed her face between the bars. "Help me! Get me out!"</p><p>
  <em>"Hey? Beverly?"</em>
</p><p>The living dead people stopped moaning. Beverly <em>knew </em>that tone, that voice that was calm as the eye of a hurricane as well as bordering on <em>hunger</em>. She didn't want to look at <em>it</em>, didn't want to acknowledge <em>it</em>, but the longer the silence pressed, the more the terror jack knifed through her, twisting and cutting her nerves.</p><p>She turned. Slowly. And yeah, the sight was nothing more than downright, shit in your pants, horrifying.</p><p>The first thing she noted where <em>its </em>eyes, yellow as champagne in the dead of night. His teeth, pointy and rotting, crossed over each other, clashed over one another as if to make room for more. They were held back by <em>its </em>sickening grin, a grin that was saved for practical jokes and bad humor. Only this wasn't a joke, wasn't a prank, this was <em>real.</em> <em>It </em>was real. It had to belong to a child's nightmare or an adult's phobia. Yet here <em>it </em>was standing there, looking at her.</p><p><em>"Hello, Beverly", </em><em>It </em>said. "<em>Very touching what you said. Truly touching."</em> Behind <em>It</em>, the undead people stood motionless, eyes on Beverly. "<em>Going so soon?</em><em> Why don't you join the party. I'm sure there's room in the coffin for two</em>." <em>It </em>laughed a laughed that belonged to Curly from <em>The Three Stooges</em>.</p><p>Beverly couldn't speak, couldn't talk. Her hands were still gripping the cemetery gate. Pure, unfiltered terror immobilized her, rendering her legs and arms and her voice useless. All she could do was look into its eyes.</p><p><em>It </em>tilted its head to the side in a comedic fashion, so much so that its ring of auburn flared hair draped toward the ground. <em>"Oh, come now. Nothing? You had a lot to say with your mother." It </em>moved to the side in an <em>Exit Stage </em><em>Left </em>fashion and revealed Beverly's mother. Her skin was water logged, moss and dirt clinging to her wet skin. Her dress with muted pink flower petals did nothing to beautify her. Her hair was muddy brown, looking like the remains of already used mouthwash. <em>"Say hi to your mother, Beverly</em>."</p><p><em>"Beverly." </em>Her "mother's" voice was calm, the tone you'd give when you're apologetic for yelling at a child who took a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner. <em>"Mommy's sorry. Give your mother a hug</em><em>."</em> <em>It </em>only looked between "mother" and daughter in amusement, as f he was a spectator of a film. <em>"Or are you daddy's little girl now</em><em>?"</em></p><p>Beverly's heart felt like it was wilting, shriveling up like a raisin in the sun. The sweat that accumulated on her fingers made the iron bars slippery between her fingers. "Go away!" She shrieked.</p><p><em>It </em>gasped theatrically and looked at her "mother." <em>"Did you hear that? Little Beverly doesn't need you anymore."  </em><em>Its</em> eyes slowly rolled back. <em>It</em> unhinged its jaw, revealing thousands, maybe <em>millions </em>of more teeth. Drool pooled from over his lips, making Beverly gag. In a swift motion, faster than a crocodile's or a lion's, making Beverly's own skin shoot upright. <em>It </em>sunk its teeth into the woman's neck.</p><p>The woman let out a piercing scream before falling to the ground. <em>It </em>wiped its mouth as if he was going to then pat his chest and say "De-licious<em>."</em></p><p>Beverly and <em>It </em>stared each other down. One with a horrified, bug eyed look on her face, the other with a dastardly grin. </p><p><em>It </em>stopped smiling. </p><p>
  <em>"You're next."</em>
</p><p><em>It </em>charged forward, letting out a roar.</p><p>Beverly rammed her shoulder into the gate and it opened. When she stumbled and landed on her side, the iron gate swung shut with a loud bang.</p><p>She scrambled backwards and onto her feet. The laugh inside the gate felt as though <em>It </em>was inside of as cistern, reverberating throughout the neighborhood. What's worse. She was the <em>only </em>one who heard it.</p><p>Grabbing the handles of her bike, she hopped on and pedaled away. Faster and faster. </p><p>It's only when she reached the end of the block did she look back to see if something was following her. Anything.</p><p>Nothing. No one followed her, except the heavy expanse of dark weaving around her.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>7:14 AM</strong>
</p><p>"C'mon, man, hurry up. Let me copy it."</p><p>"Dude, why can't you do your <em>own </em>homework?" Eddie zipped opened his bag and pulled out a blue binder, color coated tabs peaking through. "One day, I might not be here to give you answers."</p><p>Richie leaned against the locker, resting on his shoulder. He crossed his feet and pointed one of his toes towards the floor. "Do I <em>ever </em>do my own homework? I'm too busy for that stuff."</p><p>"Right," Stanley said, rolling his eyes. "Busy as in 'I want to play <em>Zombie Street Fighter </em>all night long' or busy as in 'I'm telling the truth and I have a major crisis in my life'?"</p><p>Beverly opened her eyes again, trying to stay awake and listen in on the conversation. She tried leaning against the lockers and crossing her arms, hoping that it would make her look like a rebellious bad girl instead of a tired out insomniac. Luckily, she had her favorite sunglasses on to mask the dark circles under her eyes as well as her eyes that threatened to close from the measly three hours of sleep she received. She would've asked her dad to stay home, but between school and her home, the latter was more appealing.</p><p>Richie fixed his glasses, eyeing Stanley with a look nothing short of boredom. "Depends, Stan The Man. If it's the first, you're abso-fucking-lutely right. Video games are driving the economy, putting cash in peoples pockets so they can live, eat, and even <em>breathe</em>."</p><p>"I doubt that," Stanley interjected</p><p>"So for you," Richie continued, "to derive a way to make money from millions of Americans is <em>appalling, </em>Stan. A-pall-ing. Bev knows what I'm talking about, I'm speaking facts over here. Right, Bev? Bev? Beverly? </p><p>Beverly shot her eyes open. "Huh? What?"</p><p>"Did you sleep last night?" Eddie asked. He tapped his foot impatiently like a man waiting on the elevator to hurry to the top floor as Richie copied his homework. "You look <em>totally</em> wiped."</p><p>Beverly thought of the first excuse she could think of. Even though the truth scorched her tongue, she couldn't say it. Not if it involved her mother. Add that with the murderous, jester dressing clown and you've got one doozy of a tale. "I was just up late studying," she said, looking back and forth down the hallway. "For Social Studies."</p><p>"I might have some vitamins somewhere in here." Eddie zipped opened the fanny pack that hung from his hips and rummaged around. "Tylenol, Advil...oh, her we go, vitamins." He unscrewed the cap and placed a couple of pills into Beverly's hand. "Totally safe in case you're wondering."</p><p>"Thanks." Beverly stuck the pills in her mouth and chased it with water from the bubbler next to them. </p><p>Stanley ran a hand through his curls, pulling at them as though <em>he's </em>the one who's stressed. "First few weeks of school and they're loading us with homework. I firmly believe that the school's trying to kill us." </p><p>"Hey, quiet down," Richie said, waving his free hand in the air. "Trying to concentrate over here."</p><p>Eddie scoffed. "'I'm pretty sure you're the <em>only </em>guy in the world who has to concentrate on <em>cheating</em>."</p><p>"Not cheating if I'm showing my work."</p><p>"Wha-dude, it's <em>my </em>work your writing."</p><p>"And what <em>fabulous </em>work it is." Richie kissed the tips of his fingers in a <em>my compliments to the chef m</em>otion. "Truly. We're guaranteed to get an A."</p><p>"You better be paraphrasing my shit, dude. I'm not getting a zero on this assignment."</p><p>"Blah, blah, blah, rules, rules, rules. Loosen up your tampon, man. I think you're about due for another one, anyway." He raised his hand toward Stanley. Stanley only turned away, getting something from his locker. Richie ended up high fiving himself. "Oh, here comes Wario and Waluigi."</p><p>Down the hall, Bill and Ben walked side by side. Ben seemed to be explaining something in great detail to Bill. His hands moved this way and that like an emphatic <em>Beautiful Mind </em>teacher. Bill in return nodded every now and then, only taking his eyes off Ben to look where he was going.</p><p>"Hey, boys," Beverly said, thankful for Eddie's vitamins. </p><p>"Hey B-Beverly," Bill said, hiking his back pack on his shoulders.</p><p>"Hey," Ben said, his smile carving through his plump cheeks. He looked toward the floor where Richie sat writing a mile a minute. "Um. Isn't that our history homework that's due today?"</p><p>"Yeah," Stanley Eddie, and Beverly said in unison. "Once again, he's copying me," Eddie said.</p><p>"You k-k-know it's really not that hard to do," Bill said. The group began walking with Bill taking the lead. Beverly and Ben walked on either side of him. Stanley, Richie, and Eddie followed close behind. With the way how cramped the hallways were with the surge of students, it was safer to walk close together, tightly packed like sardines or those magnetic balls that formed perfect cubes.</p><p>"Unless you have Richie's I.Q.," Beverly said, turning so that the potty mouth could hear him. "Which is as low as the bottom of my shoe."</p><p>Richie moaned, pantomimed a wounded WWII shoulder. "Ooh! Oh, sweetheart, you're breaking my heart here."</p><p>"I am?" Beverly said. The sleep was slowly going away, being chipped away thanks to the vitamins. "And here I thought your heart belonged to someone <em>else</em>." She nodded her head toward Eddie and wiggled her eyebrows.</p><p>Eddie held up his hand. "Oh no, <em>he's </em>just using me for homework. Nothing more, nothing less. At this point, I'm like a glorified secretary."</p><p>Richie kept quiet. It was <em>only </em>for a second, maybe a second in a half, but she noticed it. Finally, he said, "Bev, my heart belongs to everyone in this group. I touch people in ways you'd never think of. I could touch thousands, millions of people worldwide. I'm just that good at touching. <em>Millions</em>. All of them, I just touch in more ways."</p><p>The group remained silent. "You know what?" Stanley said, sighing and shaking his head. "I'm not...I'm not even <em>touching </em>that one."</p><p>"Same," Ben said, laughing. He hugged his books closer to his chest. "You guys ready for class?"</p><p>"You bet," Beverly said. "I take it you are?" She noticed the glares they received as they walked past. If she was alone, she would surely crumble, but with the other boys, she was invicible. Their friendship was like an aztec temple, strong and sturdy. If only she could tell them about last night.</p><p>"Yeah. I was just telling Bill about the Schuyler sisters."</p><p>"Schuyler sisters?" She asked. "I don't think I've heard of them."</p><p>"Are they hot?" Richie said from behind, looking at Ben with magnified eyes. "They wear spandex? Wait, hold up, hold up, are they fat?"</p><p>Beverly rolled her eyes as Bill stifled a laugh. Ben grabbed at the lapels of his blue jean vest. "Uh, no they <em>didn't</em> wear spandex since it was created in the late 1980s and no, they were very beautiful women. The Schuyler sisters were the daughters of General Philip Schuyler. They were nicknamed the three graces because the three of them, Angelica, Eliza, and Margarita both encompassed Zeus's daughter's personalities. And..."</p><p>"Anyone know what's for lunch today?" Richie asked obnoxiously. "Hope to God it's not that bowel movement concoction they served us last week."</p><p>"Tactful, Richie," Stanley said. A passerby bumped into his shoulder, knocking him off balance for a second before regaining his footing. "Very tactful. And yet you wonder why your classroom behavior is disruptive as...."</p><p>"Eddie's mom's farts after Super Bowl Sunday's? Cause I gotta tell you, I went by their house yesterday and let me tell you the toilet was <em>not </em>looking to good."</p><p>Eddie became livid, scorching his face up and rolling his eyes. "Dude, fuck you, my mom doesn't even <em>watch </em>sports. She thinks they're too dangerous."</p><p>"Oh, I can tell she doesn't watch sports. Have you guys <em>seen </em>that woman. Ms. Hee Haw sits in her easy chair just waiting to explode."</p><p>"I'm gonna hit you." Eddie made a fist and raised it, skinny fingers and knuckles and all. "Really. I will. I got a mean left hook."</p><p>"We're h-h-having Shepherd's pie," Bill said, answering Richie's original question. He shoved his hands in his pockets.</p><p>Richie's only response was a groan that mimicked an airplane engine.</p><p>"I-It's not that bad," Bill said. Beverly walked closer to him. Bill wasn't exactly the <em>loudest </em>out of the group so she had to strain to hear what he had to say. "Just dash a few p-p-pepper flakes into your ketchup and you'll be good to g-go."</p><p>"Ew," Beverly said, pinching the bridge of her nose.</p><p>"H-have you tried it?"</p><p>"No. And I don't need to. The Shepherd's pie hear smells worse enough. No need to add insult to injury.</p><p>Stanley's voice from behind came in chunks over the noisy hallway. "It's actually not that bad, I'll admit. We turn a crappy half star dish into a ten star gourmet meal."</p><p>"Damn straight," Richie said.</p><p>"Yup," Eddie concurred.</p><p>Beverly hooked her arm around Ben's neck. "At least <em>you </em>have some standards," she said.</p><p>Ben only looked toward the floor. His lips folded in, looking guilty. "Well....actually, I...</p><p>"No, <em>no</em>. Not you too."</p><p>"It's pretty decent."</p><p>"From here on out, I have lost all faith in humanity." </p><p>The boys around her laughed. They continued to Mrs. Douglas's class. They had about fifteen minutes before her class and the group treaded slowly trough the overcrowded corridor. Man, what kind of vitamins were these? Beverly felt like she was about to take off. The effects <em>nearly </em>demolished the night before, of her night at the graveyard, staring <em>It </em>down and her mother. She'd tell them about it. Someday. Maybe not. After all, secrets are secrets for a reason, right? She didn't want to feel <em>obligated </em>to tell them anything, didn't <em>have </em>to.</p><p>They all possessed the key to her heart. Unfortunately, her hand was clasped over the lock, blocking their path towards her innermost secrets.</p><p>Maybe after school or tomorrow she'd tell them. <em>If </em>she allowed herself to remember.</p><p>The Losers turned a corner, nearing Mrs. Douglas's class. And just when their Monday morning was off to a good start talking about the questionable Shepherd's Pie, Richie's attitude towards homework, as well as Ben bringing up the Schuyler sisters, their joy subsided, drained from them like juice from a battery pack when they spotted Henry Bowers and his gang against a row of lockers. Henry, with his perpetual scowl, arms crossed, and cocked hip, surveyed the hall like a falcon, his eyes beady and ready for anything to test him. Belch and Victor and Patrick were engrossed in their own antics of looking through what Beverly saw were Anatomy books. Three pea brains, <em>plus</em> female body parts, equals horny teens like Rottweilers who have yet to be neutered. </p><p>The Losers quieted down as they neared them. It felt like they were walking through a minefield. If they made the wrong move, if they made eye contact or even <em>breathed </em>in their direction, it was over for them. And given that Beverly, Bill, Ben, and Mike beat Henry and Belch with trash bags-trash bags filled with <em>rotting, moldy </em>meat...yeah, it's safe to say that Henry wouldn't just back off.</p><p>The vitamins in Beverly lost their effect. she went from becoming energetic to slumping her shoulders along with the rest of The Losers. She could <em>feel </em>Henry's eyes and his friend scan over her in a way that reminded her <em>too </em>much of her father. She bit her lip and without thinking reached for Bill and Ben's hands. They squeezed hers in solidarity, as if they were an unbroken chain that could withstand the toughest of rains.</p><p>"Hey, Henry," Richie said, unfazed by Henry's frown. He squeezed his nostrils, letting his voice sound nasally. "Whooh. You guys <em>stink</em>. Actually, you know what? It's a real improvement. You know you and Double Stuff over there," he pointed at Belch, "should use this cologne more often."</p><p>Henry shared a look with Belch. He stood up straighter and sauntered over to Eddie. "Watchu say, faggot?"</p><p>"Beep, beep, Richie!" Eddie whispered fiercely.</p><p>"Yeah, stop," Stanley said, already shrinking away and tucking his hat into his pocket. "You're making it worse."</p><p>Beverly's breath hitched. Of course, they told the other Losers about what happened in the alley, but she didn't expect Richie to....well....actually...she <em>should've </em>expected this to happen. How could she possibly think that <em>Richie Tozier </em>would let this slide? She should've pulled him aside and told him to cram down the insults when around Henry.</p><p>"I'm just saying, Henry, I think you and Belch <em>really</em> proved your manhood yesterday, you know? Really." Richie clasped his hands together in front of his chest. "It takes a <em>real</em> man to lie on a dirty ass ground while raw meat and dirty diapers and shit land on you. I applaud you." He let out a quick clap, a <em>Yay Me! </em>clap.</p><p>Henry's eyes shifted from a brooding storm to a flashing hurricane in a nanosecond. "I'll tear your shit up." He strode over to Richie, pushing Eddie and Stanley out of the way, making them smack into the lockers. The other three bullies looked on with full amusement, as if they were at a twenty four hour carnival.</p><p>Beverly released her grasp from Bill and Ben's hands. She stood in front of Henry and he stopped in his tracks. "Bowers, did you <em>not </em>learn your lesson yesterday? Because we will <em>gladly </em>show you again."</p><p>The traffic in the hallway started to slow down. Kids started to whisper to each other, point at the red headed girl and the mullet head. A sort of rectangular cage was starting to form. Beverly and Henry were right in the middle. Eddie and Stanley had slinked away from the lockers, pulling along Richie. Ben and Bill flanked her.</p><p>"You said it wasn't over yesterday, right?" Beverly raised her finger and poked Henry square in the chest. His eyes were boiling, like a sea of rising lava. His fists were drawn at his sides, but he made no move to lift them. "Then <em>do </em>something. I'm waiting."</p><p>Henry talked through clenched teeth. "Don't touch me, slut."</p><p>"L-l-leave her alone, Bowers." Bill came to Beverly's aid. "She d-didn't do anything to you."</p><p>"You can't talk to her that way," Ben said. His voice wasn't angry, per se. More like fear throttling the anger he had so that it came out as a sort of whisper. </p><p>"Not talking to you, Tits," Henry said, keeping his eyes on Beverly. "You don't have a candy bar to chow down on, fatass?"</p><p>Ben immediately came red in the face, buttoning his vest with clumsy fingers. The other three bullies laughed at Henry's remark and Beverly could see not quite, but soon emerging tears forming in Ben's eyes.</p><p>"Step off," Beverly said, pushing Henry back.</p><p>Before Henry could retaliate, Mrs. Douglas stepped out of her classroom. Her heels clicked on the linoleum floor. "What's going on here? Mr. Bowers? Ms. Marsh?"</p><p>At this, the crowd dispersed, carrying on about their business. They shuffled to their own classrooms, leaving The Losers and the bullies alone in the hallway.</p><p>"Nothing, Mrs. Douglas," Beverly said, as politely as she could muster. "We were just...having a discussion."</p><p>Ms. Douglass folded her hands behind her back. Her stony blue eyes complimented her stern grandmotherly voice used for shushing children in church. "Come now, Ms. Marsh. I was born, but not yesterday. There will be no fighting from <em>either </em>of you. Mr. Bowers, you know that first hand don't you?"</p><p>Henry only looked away, crossing his arms. "Yeah," he mumbled, his earlier bravo somewhat muted.</p><p>"Now...Mr. Bowers, Mr. Criss, Mr. Huggins, and Mr. Hockstetter. Please move onto your respective classrooms. Go on now. Shoo."</p><p>The bullies moved away. Belch angled his cap over his eyes, probably because he had a last name that reminded Beverly of a teddy bear. Victor and Criss strode away too, calling Mrs. Douglas a bitch under their breath.</p><p>Henry, after giving Beverly a final, scathing look, walked away, but not before bumping shoulders with Richie.</p><p>"Alright, the six of you, inside. We're starting in a minute. And unless you want detention you'll listen."</p><p>The Losers obeyed and filed into the classroom.</p><p>"Bev," Richie said, "that was amazing."</p><p>"Thanks," she said. Her head wasn't all there. Looking into Henry's eyes, there was no doubting the anger inside them. It took up his iris, filled his pupils, his corneas. She promised herself that she wouldn't see anything else in him for if she did, she definitely would endanger her friends. But <em>still</em>, there was that small <em>something</em>. It was like a dust mote floating in the wind. One second your eye caught it, the next it was gone, blending in with the light that leaked through the window. Maybe it was just the tension of being so close to him. Maybe it was the adrenaline over the fact that they <em>almost </em>started fighting. Henry <em>did</em> push her down in the alley yesterday, but that was it. He had his knife, but he didn't use it. He was occupied with Mike, but still.</p><p>Guess it was harder to figure out Bowers.</p><p>"Y-y-you alright?" Bill said as he sat in his seat. "We wouldn't let him h-h-hurt you."</p><p>Beverly sat right behind Bill. She smoothed the hem of her midnight blue dress. "I'm alright. And I know."</p><p>"Good." Bill smiled warmly. "T-t-that's the s-s-second time you saved one of u-us."</p><p>She shrugged her shoulders. "I just wish <em>some </em>people learned to keep their mouths shut when necessary." She looked directly at Richie, who sat in the back of the room near the windows. Of course, with him being the class clown the back wasn't exactly the <em>best </em>place for him. It just made people turn around to see what he was up to. He had his hands folded behind his head as if he didn't just start a near altercation.</p><p>Richie looked around him, gazed at the eyes that were searing at him. "What? Oh, I get it, gang up on the trash mouth, gang up on the guy that makes everyone laugh."</p><p>"Not everyone," Stanley said from behind Ben. He removed his hat from his pocket and placed it on his head. He was organizing his desk. He carefully placed two pencils and a pen in perfect alignment with his desk's edge. "Dude, why'd you call Henry out like that? In case you forgot, he's a...what's the word? Oh yeah, a <em>bully</em>."</p><p>"Our sworn enemy." Eddie said in the middle. "Is this gonna be a thing? You fu..." When Mrs. Douglas eyed him, Eddie took on a more <em>appropriate </em>word for a classroom setting. "Screwing us over?"</p><p>"No. You're not <em>really</em> my type. But thanks for the offer, though." Richie landed the legs of his chair back on all fours. "Whooh, that'd be a good gangbang scene, don't you think, guys?"</p><p>The Losers groaned, rubbing their eyes.</p><p>"I wonder what his problem is?" Ben said, shaking his head. He pulled out the assignment that was due today, written in decent handwriting. "Why does he pick on us? I mean, he's sixteen in the tenth grade."</p><p>Bill sighed. "I w-wish I knew."</p><p>"I just don't get it," Ben said. He produced an apple from his bag. Beverly smiled as he watched him give it to Mrs. Douglas. She broke her stern facade and accepted the fruit with a warm smile and a thank you. </p><p>"None of us do," Eddie said. "And I don't think we ever will."</p><p>"One of life's greatest mysteries," Stanley said, twirling his pencil in his hand. </p><p>"A mystery that <em>definitely </em>doesn't need exploring." Richie said, breathing on his glasses before cleaning them.</p><p>Beverly nodded her head, only as to not seem out of place. A mystery that didn't need exploring. Right? She wouldn't do that.</p><p>At least not right now.</p><p>Mrs. Douglas stood from her desk. "Alright, children, get out your listening ears. Class has begun. Have you all finished the homework?"</p><p>"Yes, Mrs. Douglas," everyone said in a tired, Monday morning tone.</p><p>"That's good." Ms. Douglass set her eyes on Richie. "And I hope you <em>all </em>did your own work."</p><p>Richie folded his hands over his desk, taking on a bashful tone that made Beverly snort. "Of <em>course</em>, Mrs. Douglas. I'm Honest Abe over here. I would never disrespect your teaching authority to cheat. I don't know who'd do that."</p><p>The Losers stifled their giggles. Eddie closed his eyes, but Beverly didn't need to figure out that he was rolling them.</p><p>Class began and Beverly took notes diligently, so as to forget about Henry. But how do you forget a person with eyes the color of a flaming sea that held something on the ocean floor?</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>11:36 AM</strong>
</p><p>"So you don't have it?"</p><p>"No, leave me alone!" The fourth grader clutched his bag to his chest.</p><p>Henry swaggered up to him, looking down at the frightened nine year old. "I <em>know </em>you have money. Hand it over. Now."</p><p>Lunch period was going <em>swimmingly </em>for Henry. Except for one thing. He was short of money and needed to eat. He would've packed his own lunch, but their food either passed the expiration date or would barely fill a mouse's stomach. And it's not as if he could ask his dad to make him a lunch since he'd probably throw together a sad assortment of stale crackers, half empty juice, and a can of beans. Henry gave his dad too much credit. He knew his dad wouldn't make him lunch at all if it put a dent in his wallet.</p><p>And after that episode with Beverly and The Losers, he wanted to forget about it. The rage that had built up in him when he stared down Beverly flourished like the tail ends of a firecracker. It wasn't his <em>fault</em>. He didn't start that. It was that loud mouthed, bug eyed, scrawny ass Richie Tozier. <em>He's </em>the one Ms. Douglas should've been scolding. And of course he got off scot free, dubbed as the innocent victim when he's the one who made of him and his still vaguely smelling clothes that smelled of whatever contents the trash bags had.</p><p>So...what better way to release it then to bully another student? Seeing the little knock need fourth grader cower in fear filled Henry with a sense of control. It was the same feeling he had when handling one of his dad's guns. He felt like a giant, invincible and impervious to the villagers below him, not caring if those below him hated him.</p><p>"Where is it? Huh?" He snatched the fourth grader's bag, rooting around inside. A calculator. Useless. Some basic algebra homework. A see through pencil case with colorful pens and highlighters. Nothing. "Don't make me hurt you."</p><p>"I don't have it." The fourth grader tried to take his bag again, but Henry pushed him back. He smacked against the wall.</p><p>He rooted through the zippers, finding candy which he pocketed, flashcards, and...well, what do we have here. Sure enough, Henry found a crisp twenty dollar bill, neatly folded. He waved the bill in front of the smaller kid's face like a discriminating piece of evidence. "What's this? Huh?"</p><p>The fourth grader turned away. Henry didn't need to know that his face was flushed and that he was on the verge of crying. "Give...give its back.' He sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. "It's mine."</p><p>"Yeah? Well, guess what?" He pocketed the twenty and patted his pocket. "It's <em>mine </em>now."</p><p>The kid barreled past Henry crying. He wrenched open the bathroom door, the acoustics of the bathroom making his cries seem like they came from the Gallows. </p><p>Henry left the bathroom, to be greeted by Belch, Victor, and Patrick.</p><p>"Got money?" Belch asked.</p><p>Henry took out the twenty dollar bill and held it in front of Belch. "Yep. Let's go, boys."</p><p>Patrick, tall and lanky like a skeleton, laughed. "Saw that little kid crying like a little girl." He laughed hard, as if what he just said was comedy gold. "Little bitch."</p><p>"He'll get over it."</p><p>Running his hands through his light blonde hair, Victor snorted. "You know that little punk's gonna tell on you, right?"</p><p>"No he won't. 'Cause if he <em>does</em>, I'll do more than just take his money. I'll break his fucking arms if I have to."</p><p>The four boys started for the lunchroom, where they could eat and harass the kids, mainly the rag-tag group of Losers that sat in the corner of the lunchroom. Only when they were at the double doors did Henry feel a palm, callused and wrinkled land on his shoulder. "Henry Bowers."</p><p>Henry spun and was about to push back or knock out anyone who made him jump. For a second, he thought it was his dad, taking it to the extreme and following him to school to give him his beatings. Only a <em>little </em>relief surged through him when it was just Principal Barnaby. Then the feeling of annoyance came to him when he saw how the principal was looking at him.</p><p>"Yeah?" Henry said.</p><p>"Come see me in my office. Now."</p><p>"Now?" Henry looked at his friends, who didn't look his way. "It's lunch."</p><p>Principal Barnaby, his voice deep and commanding, grabbed Henry by the arm. "You'd have more time to eat if you weren't bullying one of the fourth graders. My office. Now." He looked to the remaining boys. "Go to lunch. And if you cause <em>any </em>trouble, all three of you will be doing detention for a week. Is that understood."</p><p>Mumbled <em>yeahs and </em><em>whatevers </em>were said.</p><p>Principal Barnaby led Henry away. When Henry turned around, he saw Belch giving the signal that they'd see him after the principal teared him another one.</p><p>The Principal's office started becoming a second home to Henry, a home that he constantly tried to stay out off. He <em>hated </em>it there, abhorred the way the chair across the principal's desk had you facing him head on, hated how the filing cabinets full of student records gleamed as if their futures were bright and polished. No matter how many times he was sent here, he could never shake the feeling that he would never leave, never escape the confines of this small room with the dying wilting fern in the corner and the Lego turtle that sat at the corner of his desk. Who knew why the principal kept that ugly toy? Whatever. </p><p>"Take a seat Henry."</p><p>Reluctantly, Henry sat in the gray medal chair. He leaned back slightly, making the legs of the front of the chair hover over the floor. He'd put his hands behind his head like John Travolta in <em>Grease</em>, but with this chair, it wasn't happening for him.</p><p>"Henry," Principal Barnaby said, arranging documents on his desk. His jowls moved along with the words. "Do you know why I called you in here today?"</p><p>"No." He rocked himself in his chair, the front legs still hovering over the floor. "But I bet your gonna tell me."</p><p>"That's correct. Whaat were you doing bullying Scott Dobberman?"</p><p>Henry set all four of his legs onto the floor. "I don't know."</p><p>"You don't <em>know</em>? Every action has a reason, whether abnormal or methodical. I'll ask you again, <em>why </em>were you harassing Mr. Dobberman?"</p><p>Oh great, <em>now </em>he was in a pickle. The situation to Henry felt like a tactic used by those officers in NY where the cop players the nice guy role to get the victim to speak. The outcomes of this situation scared Henry to a point where he started shaking his leg, bouncing it up and down as if he were the sixtieth person in line for the bathroom. If Henry told him that he was taking his money, the Principal would surely ask why he was taking it. <em>I don't </em><em>know</em>," he would reply. Principal Barnaby would then ask did he not have enough money for lunch probably. Henry would then fidget and say that he forgot his lunch. Then the Principal would ask why he wouldn't just ask one of his friends for money instead of taking it from another student. Then Henry would stumble, not wanting to give up the financial burdens that he and his deviant friends were placed in. </p><p>It could also lead to him revealing his life at home and the very <em>last </em>thing Henry Bowers was going to do was reveal the scars on his back to this man with wisps of blonde hair on his head.</p><p>"I was just angry," Henry said, giving him another truth. "That's it."</p><p>"Angry? Angry for what?"</p><p>"He wouldn't give me his money at first." He crossed his arms over his stomach. "He lied. Told me he didn't have it."</p><p>"But is the money yours?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>Principal Barnaby twiddled his thumbs, His gray eyes like a black and white movie. "Then that's considered stealing, is it not?"</p><p>Henry shrugged his shoulders, lining them up close to his ears.</p><p>"Your behavior isn't sitting well here at school." He pulled out a file from the stack on his desk, licking his fingers before flipping through the pages. "It's only the third week and you've already been in here more than the fingers on my hands. You've been warned, you've been talked to, I've discussed with you the ramifications of what would happen if this behavior continued."</p><p>The ticking of the clock behind him made Henry feel like he was waiting in a doctor's office. The more the second hand ticked away, the more his nerves were on edge.</p><p>"And your academics have taken a turn. Your failing virtually <em>every </em>one of your classes and the ones that you're not failing are on the border of failing. Would a tutor be susceptible?"</p><p>"No. I don't need a tutor. I'm fine."</p><p>"We have counselors here, you know. They'd be more than happy to discuss with you the..."</p><p>"I'm. Fine." Henry ha enough of this. l He just wanted to get to lunch with his friends. "Can I please go?" His words were hard, sharp as Flintstone with an edge like an A5 trimmer blade.</p><p>The Principal sighed, like a man on his wits end, like a man who's exhausted all resources in his ability only to come up short. Henry never felt sorry for anyone, <em>rarely </em>did he feel that way. He wasn't sorry for the parents who lost their children mysteriously. He wasn't sorry for the way he treated the Losers Club, wasn't sorry for the way he talked back to his teachers, wasn't sorry for the way he didn't apply himself to his schoolwork that would only prepare him for a life of desolation.</p><p>But seeing Principal Barnaby rub his eyes, his frown like a troubled insomniac at three o clock in the morning waiting for the Sandman to come, made Henry feel some type of way. He really <em>was </em>trying to help him, but Henry didn't want charity. His mom was gone already. And he was sure it was in his personal file that the principal and others have read over and over again. No one gave a damn about you after high school, not even his dad paid two shits and a penny about his well being. So why should he start now? Why start self healing now when his foundation had already been crumbled and turned to ashes?</p><p>"Alright, Mr. Bowers. You can leave."</p><p>Henry stood, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor, but was caught by his elbow. "What?" </p><p>"I've spoken with Mr. Dobberman. I told him that you'd personally give him his money back by the end of the school day."</p><p>"Ok."</p><p>"I mean it, Mr. Bowers. Apply yourself this year. It's a principal's worst fear to seeing one of his student's fail."</p><p>Henry left the office, stretching his back. The money in his pocket burned his thigh. It became kryptonite when just before he was pining for it like water in the midst of a drought. It was twenty dollars, but to him it was like losing a million bars worth of gold, like losing some ancient piece of neck jewelry found in a cave in Antarctica.</p><p>Henry walked the hallway, bumping shoulders with anyone who crossed his path. His stomach growled as he left the school grounds, not wanting to join Belch and the others anymore. He wanted to be alone. He wanted too not be <em>seen</em>.</p><p>Except that no one <em>saw </em>him. No one <em>saw </em>the inner. No one sees anything in Derry.</p><p>The windows to the soul are the eyes people say. Only Henry's were to riddled with muck and grime for anyone to open and grab the near dying rose petal.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading. Like and share if you enjoyed it! This pic will be one of my favorites.</p>
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